


frost from fire

by retrofuturing



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Influenced by Victorian Gothic Romance, Non-canon world building, Slow Burn, majority of the characters won't appear until later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrofuturing/pseuds/retrofuturing
Summary: “Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same and as different as a moonbeam from lightning or frost from fire.” -Wuthering Heights, Emily BrontëThere’s a softness to him that I only see every once in a while. I wonder if he’s noticed that I’ve seen it, when my eyes flicker to him when he isn’t looking. How happy he is when he sees his dogs, even if they are being brats. How his eyebrows furrow when he tries to read a document or book that’s been placed in front of him, chewing his lip in concentration. How he’ll roll his shoulders back when getting up from sitting in a chair too long, fingers twitching from the lack of movement.But conversely, there’s also a darker glint behind his eyes. I see it when he makes the maids fetch him food that has set out for a moment too long and has lost a fraction of it’s burning heat. I see it in the kills he brings back from the forests, large and small animals alike, killed for sport. I see it in the gleam of his blade when he practices his swordsmanship in the yard, his muscles flexing with strength for the battles he’ll never fight in again. I saw it in his eyes when he pulled me to him last night and called me a jealous liar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same and as different as a moonbeam from lightning or frost from fire.” -Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

_“If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.” -Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen_

 

It comes, in the course of one's life, that one must leave home. Some are lucky enough to be leaving to be wed, some aren’t as lucky and are leaving to work. But all of the time, they leave with fond goodbyes and promises to send letters to the family when they can. I, however, managed to be the outlier in this situation, like I seem to be in most. I left home when I turned twenty one, in the middle of the night without much more than some money I had saved and a few scraps of food I stole away. I wasn’t leaving for malicious reasons- no, it was to help my family, not hurt. I saw how we struggled and, though my parents would never confirm to us, I knew us to be extremely poor. I would leave and stop being a burden on my family, unlike my older brother who continued to obtain and quickly lose jobs. There was no one in our small village who hadn’t hired and fired Josh, but I digress. 

I left, and went overseas to Vesuvia, to find work and send any money I didn’t absolutely need back to my family. It was said that the journey was long, but I knew there to be prosperous work in Vesuvia, with many of the industries thriving. At least, that’s what I had heard from my friends who longed to go and find any eligible bachelor they could. That seemed to be all my friends talked about- bachelors and marrying. I found myself enjoying some of the conversations, but often growing weary and retreating to be alone. 

The journey to Vesuvia from Orpheia, the small village I hailed from, wasn’t actually as long as I had anticipated, and after only a week of standing on the deck on the ship I sailed on, being sprayed by the sea’s foam and breathing in the salty, tangy air, we arrived in Vesuvia. 

Oddly enough, the first thing I noticed was how differently everyone dressed. With the exception of a few, most wore thin and sheer fabrics, leaving strips of skin showing. Longer hair was worn down, and the colors of the clothes and hair were vibrant. I didn’t know clothes could be that bright. People wore jewelry and had black ink on their arms and legs. I felt overdressed and plain in my long skirt and blouse that ended right below my chin, slightly dirty from my journey. Luckily no one was giving me any side glances (that I could see, at least). 

It’s warm, much warmer than Orpheia, and I can feel myself perspiring already as I walk down the street after I had grabbed my small satchel and suitcase with two more skirts and shirts. I don’t see any hope for relief from the heat, not for a few weeks until I can afford clothes of thinner fabric and make. I’m wearing enough layers to clothe at least a street of people here. I walk rather aimlessly, having no prior knowledge of the city and it’s layout. The seeds of doubt start to sprout in my mind, beginning asking myself if I made a foolish mistake in coming here, when I see the tall spires of the grand palace, so I figure that lodgings and (hopefully) work would be closer there than at the outskirts of town. 

As I make my way into the area closest to the palace, I see a small inn, advertising vacancy. Deciding against continuing my search, I pull open the door and step into a dimly lit parlor, candles providing the only source of light. The shutters over the windows are mostly closed, some left open a crack, letting dusty streams of sun fall to the floor. There’s a counter where a middle aged woman sits, filling out pages in a ledger. She looks at me when I open the door, and gives me a tired smile. 

“You new in town?” She says, and I nod in answer. She gestures me closer. “What do you need?”

“Just a room, for the next week at least. I don’t have much money to pay now, but I’m searching for a job immediately tomorrow and will be forever in your debt if you could grant me a room here. I will pay you back as soon as I am able. I don’t want to be a burden, however, and I understand that it’s a hard request to grant,” I’m already turning to leave when she coughs. 

“I didn’t say anything yet, come back here.” She moves and grabs a wax covered candlestick holder, the candle almost melted to nothing. She gestures for me to follow her and she moves to a tiny staircase I hadn’t noticed on my way in. It creaks and groans as we walk, and the landing leads to a narrow hallway with six doors, three on either side. There’s a sock on the handle of one door, and two others are slightly ajar. She leads me to one of the doors and pushes it open, revealing a small room with a smaller window and an even smaller bed, a tall dresser against one wall, and a floor length mirror hanging on the other. 

She hands me a key, and tells me that breakfast is from six to eight, and dinner has already been served, so I need to figure it out myself. I thank her and gingerly place my suitcase on the bed, which creaks under the weight. The sheets aren’t the worst I’ve seen, but there are a few stains that really could have been taken care of earlier with some elbow grease, but now are cemented into the fabric from time. The bed frame is slightly rusty, and the wallpaper is peeling, and yet I feel perfectly at home.

The next morning, I eat my sad breakfast as fast as I can. Most of the food is unfamiliar to me, so I tread carefully, not eating too much of anything, afraid of eating something that I'll regret. The innkeeper tells me of the market, where there are more options available, including a bread shop that sounds pretty safe. I thank her and rush to grab my small coin purse from my room, tying my hair into a messy updo. It’s not as nice as it could be, but I doubt anyone in the city knows that this hair would never be allowed out of the house back home. Our village was small but we did have a very rigid system of social customs. 

I look into the mirror, ignoring the stains and black spots on it’s reflection. My long black skirt and white blouse look almost identical to the ones from yesterday, but it’s no matter. I'm not here to become a fashion icon.

I quickly walk down the narrow staircase, avoiding other patrons who walk past. I count my coins as I fling open the wooden door and instantly collide into an unfortunate girl who happens to just be walking by when I leave the inn. She stumbles and falls down, dropping a small purse of coins. Some spill out, but I can tell that it’s pretty full. We both bend down to pick it up at the same time, and I end up grabbing the few coins that had escaped while she gathers her purse. I apologize the entire time. 

“Don’t worry about it!” She waves off my rambling apologies, dropping her last coin into the purse with a satisfied hum. “Why’re you in such a rush, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I’m not, really, I’m just wanting to go to the market,” I trail off at the end, realizing with a rush of heat to my face that I have absolutely no idea where that is. The innkeeper had given me directions, but they were all assuming I knew where other things where. The girl seems to realize at my face that I’m very new here. 

“Just your luck, I’m headed to the market too,” She says, and I’m thankful that she doesn’t make it obvious that I look oblivious. She introduces herself as Portia, and we begin to journey to the market. As we walk, we discuss odds and ends, and when we are about five minutes from arriving at the market, she asks me about the reason for my errand. I explain that I just want some food, and maybe to see if anyone needs an employee, perhaps? She giggles. “I don’t know if you’ll find any work at the market, a lot of the businesses try to keep it in family…” She looks me up and down. “But if you need work, I might be able to help you out there.” 

She doesn’t say much more, and we separate once we actually get into the market. I wander around, taking in the sights and smells. And then I see it. The bread shop, wafting out the warm smell of rising yeast and dough, with spices and nuts softly accompanying it. I walk into the shop, and am greeted warmly by a man who is presumably the owner. I decide on a raisin nut bread, and he hands it over to me, but declines when I try to pay, stating that new faces deserve a warm welcome. 

Well, I won’t say no to that. 

As I walk out, now eating the delightful bread, I spot Portia’s bright hair in the distance, gathering fruit into a medium sized wicker basket. As I get closer to where she stands, I see her hand over a generous handful of coins, and waving off the change. How rich must she be to be able to do that? I think back to my own almost empty coin purse and the heat of anxiety burns my neck. Or maybe that’s just the sun, but either way I’m suddenly very uncomfortable. She sees me approaching and smiles, walking over to me, the basket balanced gracefully on her hip. 

“Are you all done?” She asks, and I nod. “Good! Any luck with finding a job?”

“I didn’t even bother after what you said,” I say, trying not to sound as miserable as I felt. She hums. “Plus, you never told me about what you might do to help me find one,” I continue, looking sideways at her as we walk out of the market. As we leave, we pass by a large, stone circular building, where a large crowd has gathered outside, and an even larger crowd can be heard cheering inside. 

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding to the building. Portia follows my eyesight, as if I could be talking about anything other than that, and her own eyes darken slightly. I’m surprised to have even been able to catch it, it’s gone so fast. 

“That’s the colosseum. The Count holds tournaments there, strong men, and the occasional woman, fighting against each other, often to the death, or at least serious injury.” She explains, looking at me. My stomach turns at the thought. 

“How… awful.” I say, and look away from the building. We soon pass from under its shadow and leave it behind. I think I hear a singular person laughing and cheering louder than the rest, but I ignore it, not thinking of who could be taking that much pleasure in the games held in there. 

We are almost back to my inn when Portia stops. “About that job, I mentioned.” She says. I turn to look at her, and she is chewing on her lip nervously. I laugh softly.

“What about it? I need work, I don’t mind whatever it may be.” I shrug, stopping myself from shaking my coin purse as an example. 

“Are you good with animals?” 

****

As I ready myself for bed, and think on the two days ahead of me. Tomorrow I have nothing to do but prepare for the next. The day where I’m being sent a carriage early in the morning and will start my journey to the countryside, accompanying two dogs who are being sent a week before their master comes to his vacation estate. The Count. 

I am to care for his dogs, and any other animals that live at Tawnwild Hall, while he stays. He apparently only utilizes it for a few weeks at a time, but I’m to stay for as long as he wants me there, I have no idea how many animals might possibly reside there. I’m excited and nervous. I love animals, having grown up on a farm, but the only information I know of the Count is either negative or just supplementary information. I don’t even know his name, which I suppose I could have asked but that would have made me seem even more like a fish out of water.

I just hope it pays well.


	2. Chapter 2

_“I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had the courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst it's perils.” ― Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë_

I wake two days later, early enough that the sun is just peaking over the horizon. I reach over and light the candle that’s even lower than it was when the innkeep gave it to me two days ago. But it still manages to sputter to life. My magic isn’t remarkable, but it’s enough to do that, and I doubt I’ll need it much when I’m at Tawnwild. 

Sliding out of bed, I pull off my nightgown and fold it carefully into the suitcase, pulling out another skirt and blouse. I should use my first bit of money to buy some more clothes, I think as I begin buttoning up the blouse. This one is a bit more frilly than the others, but it’s still nothing compared to what I’ve seen other women wearing here. I twist my hair into one long braid, and pin it up into an updo onto the crown of my head. Staring at myself in the mirror, I pull a strand out to frame my face. Content, I finish gathering the few things that have somehow scattered themselves around the room and put them into my satchel. I check my coin purse, and sigh at the lack of funds. I guess I’ll have to wait to eat until we reach Tawnwild. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours journey, especially since the horses here are apparently very fast and determined. 

As I close the door behind me, I whistle and the candle blows itself out.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Me, sitting alone at one of the tables facing the street, and two other guests quietly sipping out of tumblers. Either they’ve been there all night, or they’re getting an early Wednesday start, but either way I ignore them. Hardly anyone is awake at this hour, mostly servants it seems. Walking around, running errands. It occurs to me that that’s what must have brought Portia to be knocked down by me. She’d explained that she was just one of the higher ranked maids, not much detail there, but that she did run a lot of important errands. The servants get an early start while the masters get to sleep in… I scoff, and continue to push my food around my plate, my stomach in nervous knots. 

I’m about to start worrying about the legitimacy of Portia’s offer, when I hear the hoofbeats of four horses. The carriage that arrives for me is subtly ornate. It’s not garish, but rather elegant, black with dark gold details, some of which are only noticeable when the sun hits the carriage in the right way. I step out of the inn, shielding my eyes. 

“Miss Wycliffe?” The coachman says, and I nod. I hand my ragged old suitcase to the coachman, who places it on top, along with a few other bags. I’m the only person traveling today, but I assume those are necessities for the estate. The door is opened for me, and I am about to step into the carriage when I notice my two charges. 

Gorgeous and slender white dogs with bright red eyes staring at me from their perch on the seat closest to the driver. I smile softly at them and climb into my seat, placing my satchel on the seat next to me. They continue to stare at me. 

We set off almost as soon as I sit down, lurching forward and journeying through the city. I can’t help but stare out of the window, watching the people and places passing me by, and I know that I would have come to love this city if I wasn’t leaving it so soon. The servants out occasionally look at the carriage, and as if knowing who it belongs to, bow their heads slightly. They must know the Count isn’t in here, but do it anyway, and I feel like shrinking back into my seat. We are soon out of the inner part of the city, and transition from cobblestone roads to dirt paths barely large enough for the carriage, entering the dense forest that surrounds portions of the city walls.

The woods are dark, with occasional patch of meadow. The dogs across from me have decided to trust me, I suppose, as they are slowly falling asleep in a small pile, seeming more comfortable than I feel. Portia had told me their names were Mercedes and Melchior, but I’m not sure which is which. The collars they wear are definitely more for decoration than identification- gold and gaudy, with red rubies inlaid in the metal. One of them peeks open an eye, and I quickly occupy myself with something else. 

I brought two books in my satchel, and I pull the one I’m currently reading out and open it up. I’ve read it before, but I enjoy it and I have nothing better to do, aside from continuing to stare out the window, and looking at the woods get boring after a few minutes. 

I read for a few minutes, but find myself repeatedly looking out the window, the words not absorbing into my mind. Sighing, I put it back into the satchel and content myself to getting lost in my thoughts. Thoughts which, rather quickly, turn to my family. I wonder if they’ve realized what I’ve done, why I’ve done it. I hope they aren’t hurting. 

I stew in this self misery for a while, and when the sun is halfway through the sky we stop to let the dogs stretch their legs. The forest has temporarily given way to a meadow and stream, the perfect place for the dogs, I think. The shoot off like they’ve been sprung loaded when the coachman opens the door, and when I step out of the coach, he wordlessly hands me a ripe pomegranate. 

“For when you need the dogs back. The Count’s trained ‘em well, but they need to have a reason to come back to you on your time, not their own.” He explains, and I nod. I watch the dogs run around and do any business they may need to for a few minutes while the coachman deals with the horses. 

“Do you need help with them?” I ask, feeling useless. He shakes his head, but smiles at me all the while. I smile softly back, and when he steps back onto his perch, I whistle for the dogs. Their heads pop up from where they’ve taken to laying down in the shade, and they stand, lazily stretching and shaking their heads. They start to meander towards me, when I remember the pomegranate purpose. I hold it out for them, and they immediately quicken their pace. When they’ve reached me, they sit back on their haunches, tongues wagging. I chuckle and gesture into the open carriage door. They jump up, and I follow, closing the door behind me with a click. 

I’ve just pulled out a knife from my satchel, and have begun carefully slicing the pomegranate into two pieces when the carriage lurches forward again, and we continue along our way. 

Soon, the forest turns into wooded rolling hills, the woods sparse. The occasional deer watches us pass, and the sun begins to lower into the horizon. The sky turns to vibrant hues of orange and pink, and I watch as it, in turn, fades into the deep blue of twilight, and stars begin to twinkle to life. The moon is full, but is soon covered by a dark cloud, shrouding the land in darkness. 

I can feel that we are close to the estate, and the dogs must know it as well, for they, too, have taken up looking out the window. The rolling hills have quickly become enveloped in a dense fog, and before I can begin to worry about our safety, we start to slow down, and I see it. 

We have arrived at Tawnwild Hall. 

When the coachman opens the door, the dogs once again sprint out, and almost immediately into the confines of the estate. I trust they know their way, and the coachman assures me as much. I really don’t want to be fired so soon. I smile at the coachman, and while he is bringing my suitcase down, I observe what I can of my home for the indefinite future. 

It’s large, is my first impression. At least three stories tall, it’s built of a dark stone, with tall windows taking up a lot of the wall space. Some of the windows have candles lit in them, giving the home a feeling of comfort, which is juxtaposed by the actual architectural features, which are sharp and imposing. I’m small in comparison to them, but I pay it no mind. For now, I’m hungry and tired. 

I’m handed my suitcase, which I take with a nod and smile, and begin to walk into the archway that leads into a courtyard. A older woman stands by a wooden door, smiling at me. She has wispy white hair, and a plump, motherly figure. She wears a dress and apron, and I (correctly) assume that she is the head maid of the house. 

“You must be Miss Wycliffe, I’m Mrs. Lowery,” She introduces herself, moving forward to take my bag. 

“Just Elowen is fine, thank you,” I say, letting her take it. She immediately turns and quickly heads into the house, and I, once I’ve gathered myself from the sudden change, follow. 

“Are you hungry, Miss Wycliffe?” She asks. She’s led us into the scullery, a small stone room with a sink and table. A small candelabra is lit on the long wooden table in the center of the room, and a plate with some bread and a soup of some kind sits at the head, still steaming. 

“Oh, yes, thank you, and please, call me Elowen,” I repeat. She looks at me curiously. I ignore her and sit down, immediately taking a bite of the bread. I groan. I feel like I haven’t ever had food in my life, and this bread is almost heavenly. I say as much, and she chuckles. 

“Well, Lucio is very particular about his food,” She says, already cleaning the other end of the table I’m not sat at. I swallow thickly and clear my throat.

“Lucio? Who is he?” I ask, and she looks up at me, startled. 

“Who is Lu- He’s the Count, of course!” She exclaims, and I don’t appreciate her tone at all “What, you didn’t know your own Count’s name?” I scowl at her, refusing to seem small in her mind. 

“I just arrived here two days ago. I’m originally from across the sea, so I apologize for not being properly cultured yet,” I take a sip of my soup, and she looks at me disapprovingly, hands on her hips.

“You’d better not talk to him that way, I doubt he’d like it. Probably have you taken care of, if you know what I mean.” She says, going back to her chore. We fall into a silence, as I finish my food. As soon as I set my spoon down for the final time, she sweeps me up and pushes me up the scullery stairs. “Let me show you to your room,” She says, passing me and beginning to walk fast into the hallway. It’s narrow, being only meant for the servants. 

We eventually enter the main section of the house. We pass by a darkened hallway, and she points as we walk by, explaining that the Count’s rooms are down that hall. I stop and peer into the darkness, but she keeps walking, and I’m not in the mood to be lost in a dark house that I don’t even know the basic layout of. 

My room isn’t much farther, and she opens my door for me, handing me my suitcase. “Here you are then. Breakfast is at six, either myself or another servant will be by to wake you up,” She says. I thank her, and we exchange tense goodnights, and I quickly find myself alone. She hadn’t given me a candle, but I snap my fingers and a small candle by the bed lights. It’s enough to get ready for sleep with, and I’ll explore my chambers tomorrow, when I can. For now, I’m exhausted and need to sleep.  
I’ve been asleep for barely two hours when I’m awoken. At first, I think it’s already morning, but a glance out the window tells me it’s not even close. The moon is either still under the shroud of clouds as it was earlier, or if it’s no longer on this side of the house, but either way my room is dark. I’m trying to figure out what woke me, when I hear it. A low sound, clinking and dragging is coming down my hall. I freeze in my bed, still curled onto my side. 

It sounds like chains being pulled down the floor of the hall and like a body dragging itself along the walls. It gets louder as it approaches my door, and I stop breathing for a moment. I regret not locking my door, even though I had no reason to, realistically. It stops, right where it should be at my door. Maybe it’s my mind, but is that deep, guttural breathing? There’s something… something inhuman out there. The silence begins to pound onto my ears, and I am almost on the verge of tears when the thing continues down the hall, the dragging chains becoming quieter. 

I lay in my curled up position, and I’m not sure when I fall asleep again, but when I open my eyes again, the light rays of dawn are peeking through the sheer curtains of my window. I’ve awoke of my own accord, and I sit up, and look at the clock that is next to my bed. It’s 5:30, and I have breakfast in thirty minutes. As I get ready for the day, I look around my room. 

My chambers consist of two rooms- my bedroom and a bathroom. The bedroom is large, with the windows taking up much of the one outer wall. There’s an ornate but older looking vanity, with brushes and some cosmetic products laying out, unused. The mirror is in pretty good shape, but there are some stains towards the edges of it, almost unnoticeable. My bed is four poster, made of a dark brown wood with white sheets and a red throw blanket tossed on it. There’s carving on the banisters, and the curtains hanging from the bed are a deep, dark red. There’s a large dresser across from the bed, and I laugh to myself. My clothes won’t even fit up on of the drawers, let alone eight. 

The bathroom is smaller, but still more than I would have expected A clawfoot tub is in front of a large circular window, luckily with curtains. They’re sheer, but better than nothing. There’s a flushable toilet, which is nice, and a marble counter and sink in front of a large mirror. I cannot think of a worse way to be living for the next few months, at least. 

I’m examining the contents of one of the drawers in the bathroom, lots of scented lotions and other such salves, pulling out the ones that seem interesting, when a knock comes from my bedroom door. I slam the drawer shut, feeling like I’ve been caught, even though I understand that these are for my personal use. A glance at the clock as I walk to answer the door tells me it’s five minutes to six. I hastily pull my hair up and stick a quick pin in it and open the door. 

Mrs. Lowery stands there, lips pursed. “Come along, time for breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, things actually'll happen next chapter. If you have any questions, comments, etc, feel free to comment or send me an ask on my tumblr @summercourtship
> 
> Tawnwild Hall is heavily inspired by Thornfield (obviously haha) and I used Haddon Hall specifically as a visual influence, but there are some creative liberties taken. Might go back through this chapter in a few days and add more details.


	3. Chapter 3

_“If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.” ― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights_

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. The dogs prove to be a handful, but I’m happy to take on the challenge. They seem to have taken a liking to me, which improves my work, as I don’t have to wrangle them to do what needs to be done. Much of my work is ensuring they are fed and given water when they need it, and making sure they use up all their pent up energy. I’ve only had to chase after them a few times, and they seem to much prefer chasing after me, or whatever toy I’m letting them play with. 

There’s another servant, a maid named Emily, who often will join me outside to watch the dogs and play with them. At first I was worried that she was abandoning her work to join me, but she quickly explained that she can only work for a few hours at a time, due to a health issue. After that, I found myself looking forward to her company, as it’s the only company that isn’t from a dog. Or Mrs. Lowery, but she often treats me like a young child in need of punishment, and I try to avoid her as much as possible. 

The estate is rather quiet, but Emily explains that that’ll change once the Count arrives. We’re on a break, sitting under a large gnarled chestnut tree. The wind is blowing softly, and the dogs are lazing around a few feet away, napping and enjoying the sunshine. 

“He hates silence, so he’ll often have guests over or play music. God forbid he try and play, though, it’ll make your ears bleed,” She laughs, and I find myself laughing along, “and if he tries to start singing- run.” We collapse on each other laughing. It’s really not that funny, but I haven’t had a friend like this in a while.

“What’s he like?” I ask, once we’ve stopped giggling. 

“He’s rather proud,” She starts, “and he has a tendency to be crass. But I don’t know him that well, as he only comes up here once or twice a year, and I have only been here for three myself.” She finishes, and we fall into a content silence. 

Later that week, I sit down to pen a letter to my family, explaining myself, at Emily’s advice. It’s not very long, but I include the few coins I still had, knowing that I was to be soon given more money and that I had no use for these anymore. I had lodgings, food, and source of clothing. My candle soon becomes my only source of light, and once I finish the letter, I place my quill down and blow it out, running to leap into my bed. 

I pull the covers over my head, and lay in silence, waiting to hear the chains again. But they don’t come, and they haven’t come since that first night, and I’m beginning to wonder if I had dreamed it all.

The next day, I set out in the afternoon to the small village about two miles off to post my letter. I take my time, the air cool but not chilling, the breeze giving life to the nature around me. I’m about halfway to the village when I hear hoofbeats rapidly approaching. The dirt road is rather narrow, so I move as close to the side of the road without stepping into the tall grass that hugs the edge of the road. There’s a stream on the other side, disallowing me from being able to stand there. 

The horse rounds a corner, and it’s a beautiful white thing, looking built for speed and endurance. I’m about to look at the rider when the horse spots me, and spooked, rears up on its hind legs, throwing the man on its back off. He lands with a thud onto his side, his right foot caught in the stirrup. I move to help him, or at least calm the horse down, who is still whining and shaking its head. The man is able to quickly get his foot loose, however, with a grunt. He falls back onto the ground, but seeing the horse’s continuing movement he gets up quick, cursing. 

“I’m sorry-” I start, but he cuts me off with a look. 

“What are you, some kind of witch?” He asks me, eyes narrowed. I shake my head, confused at his questioning and sharp eyes. 

“No sir, certainly not enough to bewitch a horse,” I say, rushing towards him. He looks at me again, and I stop a few feet away. “Are you hurt?” I ask, noticing his stance. 

He shakes his head, and moves to walk towards his horse, who has quickly calmed down after seeing no lurking danger, but stops when his right leg buckles underneath him. He curses again, very colorfully, and I flush. He looks back at me. “Come here.” He orders, and I find myself following, without much thought. When I’ve reached his side, he puts his arm around my shoulder and leans heavily on me. After a moment of gathering and adjusting myself to accommodate him, we begin to walk back to his horse. Once we’re back, he leans against the horse, but doesn’t get up. 

“What are you doing on this road?” He asks. 

“I’m headed to the village to post a letter.” He narrows his eyes again. 

“Where are you coming from?” 

“Tawnwild Hall, sir. I care for the animals there, but had a few hours off this afternoon.” I say, gesturing behind me in the general direction of the house. He cocks his head slightly, silver eyes regarding me cooly. 

“And what of the master there, he know you’re out?” He asks. 

“Oh, I don’t know the master. He’s supposed to be arriving sometime this week, if you’re asking after him.” I say, trying to be as helpful as possible after causing this man injury. He looks to be of a higher status, and I sincerely hope he knows I meant him no ill will. 

I see a shift in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can place it. His lips curl into a ghost of a smirk. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He asks, and I’m startled by the question. 

“No, sir.” I say, not elaborating. I don’t know this man, he doesn’t need or deserve my life’s story. 

“Well, you should hurry up with that letter, so you can be back before dark.” He says, after a moment. I bow my head slightly as he hoists himself back onto his horse, not without a grimace of pain. He nods back, still with that curl of the lip, and continues down the road, right in the direction of Tawnwild. 

The rest of my journey is uneventful, and I find my thoughts idly straying back to the man on the horse as I walk back from the post office, my feet beginning to ache. Twilight is quickly approaching, and the setting sun dapples the road through the trees. The air is beginning to cool down much more, and I find myself occasionally shivering. 

I enter Tawnwild’s grounds, and wearily enter into the main hall, instead of the customary entrance through the scullery door. I can’t bring myself to care about propriety now. But I am surprised to see the servants all scurrying around. Mrs. Lowery spots me and quickly rushes to me.

“The Count has arrived,” She says, sounding slightly breathless, “and he wishes to speak with you. He’s in the parlour.” I nod, feeling my stomach sink, and spot one of the many portraits that I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to this past week and my stomach is probably at my feet when I recognize who the man on the horse was. 

I make my way to the parlour, entering quietly. There’s a fire in the fireplace, gently crackling and giving a soft glow to the otherwise dark room. Mercedes and Melchior lay at the foot of a tall wingback chair, where the fire reflects off a golden arm that I had failed to notice during my run in with the Count earlier. 

I stand in the doorway, unsure of how to announce my presence, when Mercedes looks at me, and her mouth lolls open, and she starts panting. “I don’t have any treats for you,” I say quietly, and the Count shifts, not looking at me, but now aware of my being there. 

“Isn’t that your job?” He asks, still hidden from my sight. 

“I’m afraid not, sir.” I say. “If your definition of taking care of animals is just giving them treats, I’m wary of how spoilt all your animals must be.” He pauses after this, and I fear I’ve stepped out of line.

“Come here. Sit down.” He says, and I move to sit in the seat to the right from him, teetering on the edge. He’s looking at me, human hand under his chin, and I can’t help feel that I’m being sized up. I probably am. “Tell me your name, no one’s given it to me.” 

“Elowen.” He nods in response. “And you, sir?” I ask after a moment of silence, and he looks over at me.

“What?” He asks sharply.

“What’s your name, sir?” 

“Do you not know who I am?”

“No, I do, but it’s rather polite to introduce yourself when someone introduces themselves to you.” I say, unable to bite my tongue. Again. My mind flickers back to Mrs. Lowery’s words about treating the Count with respect or risk being executed. But before I can begin to worry, that smirk I saw from earlier is back, his silver eyes glinting from the fire. 

“Do you always dress so… conservatively?” The Count looks me up and down, and I glance down at myself. 

“Yes- it’s how we dress where I’m from, and I don’t see myself being fond of the fashions here.” 

“And where is it, that you’re from?” 

“Across the sea, a small village in Orpheia.” I explain. “It’s colder there, so we dress rather warmly all year round.”

“Do you not get warm?”

“It does not get warm enough there for me to worry, but here I do occasionally find myself wishing I could wear the fine silks and thin cottons you all do. But, I do not like the idea of showing that much skin- I don’t think anyone has ever seen that much of my skin, it would feel improper.” He only hums in response, and I take that as my cue to leave. I bow my head slightly before turning and leaving the room as swiftly as I had cautiously entered it earlier.

Before I exit, however, I hear him get up. I turn, to look at him, and he’s much closer than I thought. I take a step back, giving up some space. He looks down at me, and holds out a hand. 

“Count Lucio, at your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be asking: Kyra, why did you have Lucio ride in on a horse when it would make more sense for him to be in a coach?  
> And the answer is very simple: 1.) Jane Eyre parallel, and 2.) I like the image on Lucio on a horse let me have this
> 
> I also know nothing about horses, im sorry
> 
> will go back and through and do some edits later, so forgive any mistakes :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while hasnt it lmao

_ “Beware how you give your heart.” ― Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey _

 

I lay in my bed that night, thinking back on the events of the day, my mind unable to calm itself. After the Count had shook my hand, he swept past me and retired to his rooms for the night, the dogs following close behind. I have questions for him, but most probably show my lack of knowledge of the Vesuvian culture and history. Thinking of how I treated him when I first ran into him earlier makes me cringe in retrospect, especially remembering Mrs. Lowery’s words about how quickly he could have me executed. But then, when I’d said something that could’ve been offensive earlier, he didn’t do anything, aside from look surprised. I burrow deeper into my sheets, letting my thoughts drift towards speculation of the future, and if I would have more opportunities to talk to the master of the house. 

 

My nose is cold when I wake up again, and with a glance around the room, I figure that it can’t be later than 3 AM. I sit up for a moment, and as soon as I wonder what lead me to wake up in the middle of the night, I hear it. The chains that I heard on my first night at the house. Slowly making their way down the hall, dragging. Heavy footsteps accompany the clinking, as they approach my door. I’m frozen in fear, knowing for sure that I’m fully awake. As the sound gets louder, I slip out of my bed quietly, an odd surge of bravery in my breast. I softly tiptoe to the door, pressing my ear against it. Those are definitely chains, and a large creature dragging them down the hall. I’m not breathing. But the creature is- low, ragged breaths, sounding like a death rattle. My heart is suspended in my chest, feeling both like it’s beating a thousand miles a minute and like it’s stopped completely. 

 

The creature stops outside my door, and I can’t move. The door handle starts to turn and I don’t know what I’m going to do if it pushes the door open and then- almost as if summoned by my thought- there’s a pressure on the other side, trying to push the door in. A tear escapes my eye. Then, as quickly as it happened, the pressure is gone and a different pair of footsteps, lighter and more grounded approach. I can no longer hear the chained being, and there’s a light and quick knock at my door. I exhale.

 

I wipe away the tears that have fallen down my cheeks and slowly open the door. The Count stands outside my door, in a nightshirt, but no pants. I don’t look down, but I feel heat creep up the back of my neck, which is exposed to the night air as my hair is braided into two straight plaits. 

 

“Sir?” I whisper, “Is anything the matter?” I can tell he sees the redness of my eyes, illuminated in the candle he holds. He looks away. 

 

“No, everything’s fine. Just thought I… Nevermind. Go back to bed,” He says, and I nod and begin to push the door closed when he puts his hand out to stop it. “You, um, you didn’t hear anything, did you?” He asks. He sounds different at night, less abrasive and blunt. I would necessarily say  _ kinder  _ but there’s a softness to his voice.

 

“...Not at all.” I lie, and I know he can tell. But I can’t begin to explain what I’ve heard, let alone enough to convince him that there’s something here. He nods once and, with that stupid smirk, turns and heads into the darkness towards his hall. “Goodnight, sir!” I call out quietly behind him, and I hear him stop for a moment before continuing on. The air is still for a moment before I, too, close the door and get back into my bed, mind and heart racing, wondering why he deigned to come to my quarters. I avoid thinking about the creature, for fear that thinking about it will summon it again.  

 

When I wake and dress the next morning, it’s early. I’ve quickly gotten into the habit of waking before someone comes around to make sure I’m awake, so I have time to fully come to myself  and wake up as well as get ready for the day ahead. I wander into the bathroom, the cool tile floor serving to wake me up. The bathtub fills quickly with steaming water, a unfamiliar luxury. In the cabinet nestled behind the door, there are vials of soap and perfume, as well as towels. After grabbing some at random, I quickly strip down and slide into the bathtub, the warm water enveloping me and soothing knots in my muscles I hadn’t even known were there. I sigh and submerge myself, holding my breath until I absolutely cannot anymore. I pop back up, gasping but thoroughly awake.

 

As I soak, the sun rises, lighting the grounds with the soft morning glow I’ve grown accustomed to. I find my thoughts turning to the Count. He must have heard the noises last night, too. Why else would he have visited my room at such a late hour, when everyone else in the home had retired for the night? It’s not like we’re old friends, I just met the man earlier that day! And I think back on our meetings- both of them. The first perplexes me the most, I don’t understand why he didn’t reveal himself to me when I made it clear that I had no idea who my boss was. Perhaps he just thought it was funny. But his behavior later that night didn’t make sense. There was no grand reveal on his part that the man I knocked off the horse was my employer and all the ruler of Vesuvia. And his behavior also didn’t match up with the reports of both Mrs. Lowery and Emily. 

 

Am I overthinking this? Probably, but I can’t stop myself. 

 

I sit in my thoughts long after the water has turned cold, and it’s only when the aforementioned Mrs. Lowery knocks on my door that I start from the bath. I give a quick shout for her to wait. I quickly pull on a dressing gown and go to answer the door. 

 

“My apologies, I was in the bath and didn’t see the time, am I late for anything?” I ask. She stands outside my door, hands on her hips and a disapproving frown on her face. 

 

“You’ve already missed breakfast, and you need to take the dogs out soon, they’re getting to be a nuisance. You have ten minutes to get ready,” She says, turning around and walking away before I can respond. I don’t know what would happen if I wasn’t ready, but I don’t want to chance it and quickly rush to grab my clothes. I pull on undergarments and stockings, careful not to rip the delicate fabrics, and then my skirt and shirt. I twist my hair into a loose bun and stick a few pins in it to keep in secure. All that’s left after that are my boots, which I shrug on, not bothering to tie them until I can report to Mrs. Lowery. Before I shut my door, I pause and grab a book. 

 

I slam my door shut behind me and rush through the hallways to the scullery, where she waits. The dogs leap up from their position in front of the door at the sight of me, and I smile and pet them while I tie up my boots as quickly as I can. She hands me a thick piece of bread as I open the door and let the dogs loose. They immediately bound out, running around and sniffing for spots to relieve themselves after the night. After that, they roughhouse with each other a bit, occasionally coming by where I sit for a pet. I eat my bread while watching them, making sure they don’t get into any trouble.

 

The day is starting to warm up by now, and the dogs have taken to lounging about while I read under the shade of a tall chestnut tree. I’m engrossed enough in my book that I don’t notice I have company until he speaks. 

 

“Am I paying you to read, or watch my dogs?” The Count doesn’t sound angry, more amused. Maybe a bit confused. I hum. 

 

“Actually, sir,” I place my bookmark and look up at him, “I haven’t gotten any money yet. So I would say no, you aren’t paying me to do anything until I’ve received that money.” 

 

“How much am I paying you?” 

 

“Enough.” I respond, because I’m actually not certain. Portia didn’t give me numbers, and if the people I spoke with after did, I must have forgotten. “I suppose you take out some for my food and shelter, though. So maybe you can take out more for leisure time.” I add on, smiling. The dogs have gotten up at the sight of their owner, and happily stand by the two of us, tails wagging. 

“I’ll consider it,” He hums, “But you are doing a fairly decent job of looking after these two, so maybe I will give you extra.” He looks at me and I furrow my brow. 

 

“Oh, no that won’t be necessary!”  _ Though it would be nice _ . It’s almost as if he can see that thought, and I know he’s made up his mind. We’re quiet for a few moments. 

 

“Tell me, Elowen, do you think me handsome?” 

 

“No, sir!” I flush and he looks half affronted and half satisfied. I’m speaking again before I know it. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that, what I mean to say is-” I’m stuttering and I hate myself. I pause, and take a breath. “What I meant to say was I don’t necessarily put much stock into physical attractiveness. Because I have known many a person who is very outwardly beautiful but very rotten inside. And the reverse is true as well, I suppose.” I shrug. “So I will let you know, if I get to know you better, whether or not I find you handsome.” 

 

“And me being the ruler of a damn prosperous city has no effect on that decision?” He’s smiling now. 

 

“Not at all.” We look at each other for a few moments, before he breaks the silence. 

 

He nods to the dogs, who have now sat down. Melchior grooms himself while Mercedes blinks up at us, almost begging. “You ever take them on walks?” 

 

“I don’t have the capabilities to take both of them on walks. I’m sure you know how fast and strong they are, when they want to be.” I respond. 

 

“Well, then maybe I will accompany you on a walk at some point. The woods around here are very good for that. And hunting, but I’m assuming that is not something you partake in?”

 

“Not particularly, no. But I would love to go on a walk with you,” I say before hastily tacking on- “And the dogs!” 

 

He chuckles, and heads back into the house, the dogs following him eagerly. Watching them, I wonder why I was even hired if he seems to be perfectly capable of handling them himself. 

 

****

 

The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. I don’t run into the Count again, and by the end of the day I cannot tell if I am relieved or disappointed in that. Despite myself, I find my thoughts straying to him again and again over the course of the day, and at night they just get worse. I’ve known this man only a day and yet, here I am, acting as if I had a schoolgirl crush on him. And knowing that I’ve recognized the thoughts, I know that my life around the Count will only get harder. 

 

My thoughts are confirmed multiple times over the next week. I don’t see him too terribly often, but when I do- even in passing- my face heats up and my stomach tightens into knots. After each encounter, I berate myself. Having a crush on someone like him will yield no positive results, and yet I can’t help myself.

 

A few days later, I run into him again- quite literally- as I exit the study, reading the description for the next book I’ve decided to read. I drop the book from the surprise of sudden contact. My stomach flutters into butterflies as I quickly kneel down to grab it, and notice he didn’t even bother trying to beat me to it. 

 

“Hello, sir.” I say, trying to worm my way past him, but he places a hand on my shoulder. It’s not aggressive, it's actually just to get my attention again, but the touch of his hand sends shocks down my spine. I look up at him. “Is there something you need?” 

 

“No, no,” He trails off, and removes his hand. I’m halfway out of earshot for him when he continues, “Have you been sleeping well?” 

 

I know what he’s referring to, and any heat I had felt drains out of me, leaving only icy coldness and fear behind. I’ve only heard to cursed noises a few times since his first night here, but each time they’ve gotten more and more aggressive and pronounced. I’ve taken to sleeping with my door locked and barricaded, fire risks be damned. “I’ve been sleeping great, thank you for asking.” I don’t wait for his response before scurrying away from him. 

 

I want to find myself looking forward to when this job will end at the end of summer. But, try as I may, I can’t help but dread when he and I will be apart and strangers once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna *try* to update this more frequently but honestly i have no idea when that's going to be, im sorry :( i have an assortment of ideas for this that i just have to figure out how to fit them in and blah blah blah blah blah
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!! i swear, more characters and plot shit will actually come in soon (but also this is very much a relationship driven fic, aside from being a plot heavy fic if that makes sense)


	5. Chapter 5

_"I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.”  ― Bram Stoker, Dracula_

In the next two weeks, we fall into a routine. I awake before he does, and take care of the dog's morning schedule. They eat and run around and play outside for an hour or two, and then we retire into the study. I read or draw while they nap lazily around. This is when the Count normally enters my day.

The study itself is made of a dark wood, with full bookshelves covering most of the wall space. Most of these books in question are very dusty, and don’t seem to be utilized very often. A large stone fireplace sits opposite the wide windows, with two leather arm chairs facing it’s hearth. In front of the window there’s a mahogany desk, cluttered with maps and letters.

Normally I will light the fire and sit by it, reading while the dogs curl up in front of me. Today, I search the shelves for a new book when the Count enters. The dogs immediately jump up and make their way to him, barely minding the furniture in their way. I turn and watch him greet them, and I can’t help but smile. He looks up at me and I hold his gaze for a moment before returning to my search.

“How are you today, sir?” I ask, as he walks to me, leaning against a spot on the bookshelf a few feet away to look down at me.

“It’s getting better,” He says, and I peek out the corner of my eye at him.

“Since when you got up a few minutes ago?” I ask, fighting to keep a smile down. He purses his lips in annoyance.

“Of course not. It takes much longer than that to put this together,” He gestures to himself, and I snicker.

“Alright, alright. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, then.” I pick a book and walk to the armchairs, the Count following a few feet behind. “You don’t have to follow me like a lost puppy, you know.” I sit, and look up at him while he pretends he wasn’t just trailing behind me.

“No, I was just going to join you here, in front of the cold fireplace.” He sits in the opposite chair, and crosses his legs. The room is rather drafty, and I say as much. Before he can respond, I spark the wood with my magic, watching the surprise quickly flit across his now warm-lit face. I smile and open my book, and we sit together in the silence, with the exception of the crackling fire and the snoring of the dogs.

After a while, he gets up, knees cracking. I giggle, not looking up from my book. “That’s all of that I can take,” He says, headed towards the door. I wave goodbye, not bothered by his leaving. “Oh, and you have the day off tomorrow, I’m going hunting with the dogs.” He exits, and only when the door shuts behind him do I look up after him.

A day off? The thought of it doesn’t awaken any excitement. I love my job, and it’s not so complicated to warrant me wanting days off. But, I could go and buy new clothes from one of the few boutiques in town. I look at the skirt I’m in now, the hem ragged and dirty. Maybe I’ll buy a pair of trousers and new shirt. I doubt I have enough saved up for anything fancy.

Mind made up for tomorrow’s activities, I return to my book until it’s time to take the dogs out again.

****

The next morning, I allow myself to stay in bed longer than usual, watching the sunlight slowly begin to stream into the room. Only when it begins to hit my eyes do I slip out of bed. I take my time getting ready, soaking in the bathtub and occasionally rewarming it with a flick of my fingers. Once I tire of that, I rise from the tub, dry off, and put on my usual clothes. After I’ve braided my hair and pinched my cheeks, I grab my satchel and lack up my boots, headed out to start the day’s journey.

As I walk down the corridor, I rifle through my coin purse. There’s not much, but it’s enough for a dress or two. I tuck the purse into my satchel at my side, and feel a presence at my side. I look up to the Count, walking beside me. I smile in greeting.

“What are you up to?” He asks, and I tell him. He starts to nod, before he smiles back at me. “With what money?”

“I have some saved up…” I’m cut off by his laughter. It’s not loud, like I’ve heard before. It’s quiet, a chuckle compared to the normal cacophony. The tips of my ears heat, and I feel my face follow suit. “I’m not looking for much, especially not anything fancy, Count I-Will-Only-Wear-Something-If-It-Has-Gold-Woven-Into-It Lucio,” I snap, trying to swing the conversation back into my favor, to make him feel like the fool for once. He chuckles.

“Gold looks great on me. Have you even asked the price range of the shops in town?” He asks, and I pause before reluctantly shaking my head. “You’re not in your hick town anymore, Elowen.”

“I’m not from a hick town, Lu-” I catch myself. “Sir.”

“Either way, you don’t have enough in that small purse for the trim of a dress, let alone the whole thing. You’re gonna have to tell them to bill me.” I stop. He continues walking for a few steps before turning to look at me. “What?”

“I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re my boss.” The excuse sounds weak, and I know he’s about to refute it before it even finishes leaving my mouth.

“In the same way I’m the Consul’s boss.” He says, and I furrow my brow. This wasn’t quite the rebuttal I was expected from him. “You’re the _Royal Caretaker_ , of my prized hounds. You’re not a simple employee. It’s a respected position.”

I’m quiet. I actually hadn’t known that. I thought I was akin to a maid, and I express as much, as dumb as it makes me feel to admit it. He rolls his eyes. “How the fuck did you even get hired, if you don’t even know your status as caretaker?”

“I needed a job.” I say. “Portia offered it to me.” I see a faint recognition in his eyes, but he shrugs it off. He doesn’t care.

“It doesn’t matter now. Bill me,” I’m about to protest again, and he continues, “and I won’t hear any more protests. Buy yourself something nice.” He looks me up and down briefly, before turning and leaves me in the hall, face red and palms cold.

I shake it off and exit the house, the cool air refreshing on my warm cheeks. The walk into town is rather uneventful, unlike the other time I walked down this path. I find myself thinking back on the Count’s and my first meeting. I’ve never asked him why he didn’t tell me who he was then. Was he saving me from embarrassment or was he trying to make the embarrassment worse when I finally did realize who it was I, however accidentally, knocked off his horse.

These thoughts continue until I’ve hit the shops of town, and then all my focus is taken up by trying to find a decent pair of pants that won’t bust my budget. I refuse to use the Count’s money, even though he obviously has more than enough. It’s more a matter of pride now, if I’m going to be honest with myself. If he wants to provide me with clothes, he might as well give me a uniform like the other servants.

_But you aren’t a servant,_ a small voice in the back of my head reminds me.

I enter a small shop, one that isn’t advertising extravagant dresses or outfits unfit to work in. I rifle through the designs they have on display, before settling finally on a simple pair of trousers and a blouse. The trousers are rather unremarkable, but I’m drawn to the blouse. It’s unlike the other shirts I have, which are all button ups with high collars. There’s nothing like that here, and I hadn’t really expected to find anything like it. The blouse is made of a thin airy fabric, with a V-neck that ends just low enough to not be scandalous.

I’m about to head to the counter to place my order when I spot a design for a nightgown. I had brought one or two, but they’re both longer than is comfortable for the warm temperature of my room at night. The nightgown is short with a piece of fabric tied around the waist to bring it in. I bite my lip as I look at the price and see, with an odd feeling of triumph, that I can afford this as well.

As I order the items, I have to try and convince myself I’m buying these for myself, and not for anyone else’s pleasure. _Certainly_ not the Count.

“And where should I send the items once they’re ready, ma’am?” The woman at the counter asks after I’ve handed over my coins.

“Tawnwild Hall, please.”

“Oh! Are you a guest of the Count?” She asks, smiling brightly as she writes down the information.

“I suppose so, yes.” She frowns at my half-answer, but hands me the receipt and wishes me a good day.

After I’ve left the shop, the sun is beginning to set, bathing the town and surrounding areas in a soft glow. By the time I’ve made it back to Tawnwild, the sun has set and only the cool tones of twilight remain. I’m hurrying to get in sight of the estate when I spot him standing near a tree on the edge of the grounds, a few yards away from where the wood begins. He seems to just be enjoying the evening air. Before I realize I’ve made the decision to approach, my feet leave the path and I amble over to the tree. He looks up at me, silver eyes unfeeling until he recognizes me, and his eyes heat. I smile and greet him. It’s silent as we look at each other for a few moments. Then we both speak at once.

“How was town?”

“How was hunting?”

We stop at the sound of the others voice. “You first,” I tell him, breaking the silence.

“It was fine. Hunting back in the city is a bit harder, the woods here are better suited for it. Now, how much of my money did you spend?” He asks, and I balk.

“I didn’t use any of it, sir.”

He takes a moment to process this, shocked. “I offered to pay for something- without any expectation in return- and you don’t use it? Do you not normally use gifts, or was this an exception?” He seems annoyed, which makes me annoyed in return.

“But money is not a proper gift, is it? If you really wish to spend money on me- which I don’t want you to do, but if you insist- I would much rather you accompany me to a shop and do the business transaction yourself. But without you there, it feels exploitative.” I’m turning away from him, when he stops me with a metal hand placed upon my shoulder. It’s surprisingly warm, thrumming with energy.  

“Exploit me then.” I turn to him, and he’s no longer annoyed. I can’t actually place the emotions in his eyes, and it scares me that I don’t know what he sees in mine. We stare at each other for a few moments. My heart is racing, and I’m sure he can hear it, it’s so loud.

A sudden gust of cold wind breaks the tension between us, snapping it like a twig. I’m suddenly breathless and he’s looking up at the sky. “We should go inside.” He immediately sets back off to enter the house, leaving me under the tree in a sick mirror of our conversation this morning. I watch his retreating back, bitterness filling my mouth.

****

The next day, we both ignore the conversations we had the day before and talk to the other like nothing happened. And really, nothing did happen. In the morning he comes by my room and asks if I would want to take the dogs on a walk later, and I smile and tell him I’d be happy to.

The day is cool, and he has enough control over the dogs that they don’t need to be leashed. I thank heavens for that, because I did not want to be tethered to one of them when they see something and bolt. My shoulder aches just thinking about it.

We chat idly, occasionally stopping to listen to the sounds of the woods. They’re very different sounds from my hometown. We’ve been walking for a half hour when he stops and looks at me.

“Is anything the matter?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“No, no. I just remembered something.” I gesture for him to continue, and we start walking again. “I’m having some guests over next week from the city. Some courtiers, my doctor, the likes.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure why he’s informing me of this. “Is there a particular reason why, or have you finally gotten bored of just my company?” I ask, making sure to be playful enough that he knows I’m teasing but serious so that he understands my question.

“I’m thinking about having a ball. It won’t be anything like the masquerades I hold back home- oh, just wait until you get to go to that, that’s a party- but it’ll be a small affair. I’m here for a few more weeks and I’m running out of activities to keep busy.” I nod, feeling a bit stung but quickly scolding myself. Of course he couldn’t keep to the same routine everyday like I can.

“Is there any particular reason you’re informing me of this?” I ask, watching Melchior chase a butterfly.

“You’re invited, of course.” He sounds affronted that I hadn’t gleaned this from his vague information. I look at him in surprise. “So, I suppose you will have to accept my offer of money now, because you are not showing up in _that_.” I giggle at his offended tone, and we continue our walk, speaking no more of the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm thanks for reading haha i promise plot will happen (well, as much plot as there will be)


	6. Chapter 6

_“You had a temper like my jealousy/Too hot, too greedy” Wuthering Heights, Kate Bush_

Lucio paces in the study, Mercedes and Melchior following his movement with their eyes, heads moving back and forth and back and forth. He’s been doing this for about five minutes, and hasn’t said a word the entire time. I can’t tell if he wants me to ask him about what’s bothering him, but I’ve since stopped trying to pay attention to my book and instead chance a glance up at him every few seconds. He seems lost in his thoughts, eyes focused on the ground in front of him and a hand on the back of his neck, occasionally running it through his hair. 

“Sir, are you okay?” I ask, breaking the silence. He stops and looks at me, as if just noticing that I am in the room too. He smiles after a second, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Curious. I dogear my page and shut the book, turning all my attention onto him.

“Of course I am, why do you-” I raise my eyebrow and he lets the smile drop. “No, I’m not. I’m worried.”

“Yes, I can tell that. But why? Shouldn’t you be excited, for the party?” I ask, and I can’t help but feel like I’m trying to coax an answer out of a young child. 

“That’s why I’m nervous,” He pauses, trying to find the words. “What would you do if you heard things about me that paint me as a… terrible person instead of the perfect man I am?” He’s not meeting my eyes, instead focusing on a point somewhere on the same level as my knees. It’s worrying. I’ve not seen him stressed, and it’s something I desperately wish to help him from. 

“I don’t think you’re perfect, sir.” I’m smiling, trying to lift his mood. It doesn’t work, and he just seems more frustrated. 

“Never mind that, answer my question?” He sounds tense. Not at me, I don’t think, but because of whatever’s on his mind. I think about the question for a moment, before tentatively starting to formulate my answer. 

“I would wait and see what you have to say about yourself and make my judgement on my own. I don’t need other people’s opinions to influence mine. Facts, yes, but they are so often clouded by one’s own bias.” 

He seems contemplative at my answer, eyebrows furrowed again. “And do you think that there are things that people can come back from?” It’s almost whispered, as if to himself rather than to me. 

“Do you mean, like redemption?” 

He nods. 

“I suppose so, yes. But wouldn’t you say that this is a morbid conversation, sir?” He looks at me another moment, before walking to the wide windows, looking out onto the grounds. He’s silent once more for a few minutes, and I’ve turned back to my book. He clears his throat, and I look at him again. 

“I… have found myself enjoying your company these past few weeks, that’s all. I just don’t want any silly rumors you may hear about me from the guests to make you dislike me,” He says, looking annoyed. But I smile. 

“I enjoy your company too. And I have never taken to listening to rumors, despite how entertaining they can be,” I walk to him, and place my hand on his forearm. “Nothing could make me dislike you,” I say, looking up at him. “Well, unless you ruined my life. But even then I might still hold out, who knows?” He gives me a weak smile at the joke, and we stand like that for a few moments before I turn. “It’s about time for the dogs to go out again, do you want me to close the door on my way out” I ask. He nods and I leave him and call the dogs to me, leading them out of the room before gently shutting the door behind me. Before the door is completely shut, his sharp eyes raise and meet my gaze. My heart stutters, but before I can do anything the door has clicked shut and I have to attend to the dogs. 

They bound down the stairs, only barely missing running into the various knick-knacks on side tables in the narrow halls. At the door to the grounds, the sit back and look at me as I gather treats and a toy or two for them. They’ve barely begun to whine impatiently when I open the door and they burst out into the yard, two blurs of white chasing each other around and around in the green fields of Tawnwild. 

*****  
Lucio and I wait by the main entrance, where the drive ends in a loop. My clothing orders from the town had come in that morning, and in an effort to look nice for our guests, I wore the lower cut blouse with a long skirt. Ignoring the way the Count’s gaze lingered on me this morning as I swept past him to take care of the dogs was almost euphoric. But as I stand next to him now, I feel exposed, anxiety curling in my stomach at the thought of new guests. Meeting new people wasn’t normally something that made me nervous, but they seemed to be important to the Count. And I wanted to impress them. Impress him. 

It’s silent, and I’m about to break the comfortable silence when we see the carriage crest the hill and start making its way down the drive. Before we know it and before my thoughts can even catch up, it has come to a stop in front of us, and small group of people exit. It’s a colorful assortment of people, so much so that I have a hard time deciding who to focus on. The short but strong person decked in red with a silver gauntlet? The tall imposing figure with piercing red eyes? The sneering man who was already looking down his nose at me? 

My eyes fall on the last two to exit the coach, one decidedly more gracefully than the other. These two seem out of place amongst the others, and I immediately felt myself drawn to them in juxtaposition to the others who were already crowded around Lucio, chattering away. 

The shorter one, still a few inches taller than me, has curly white hair and brightly intelligent eyes. He’s decked in so many colors and patterns I hadn’t imagined would look good together, but he manages to pull it off, surprisingly. The taller one surveys the grounds cooly, his hooded eyes emotionless. But when they land on me, they light up and he gives me a sly grin. I introduce myself to the two of them, and they return the favor. Turns out, Julian, the taller one, was the one who had been really invited to stay, but he’d managed to convince Asra to come along. “So he wouldn’t be stuck here with the courtiers and Lucio.” Asra says, smirking. Julian doesn’t bother to dispute the statement. 

“I’ve been with the Count for the past few weeks and I don’t find it to be that bad,” I say, a bit confused about Asra’s meaning. I neglect to say that I actively enjoy his company, because despite my other shortcomings, I’m rather good at reading a room and I can tell that these two are not Lucio’s biggest fans. Asra looks at me curiously.

“You’re in the minority, then.” 

After that, I manage to steer the conversation in a more calm direction, asking what it is the two of them did. We managed to talk for a while, eventually deciding to walk around the grounds instead of just standing in the entryway to the main building. As we seperated from the main group, I chanced a glance at Lucio, where he was happily speaking with his courtiers and I bitterly felt a pang of something in the bottom of my heart. He lifts his gaze to mine for a second, before I quickly turn my head and follow after the two men. 

I found my thoughts wandering during our walk around the grounds, tuning out the conversation. Occasionally, I would be brought into it, mostly by Julian. He would ask a question, and I would answer with something short, too distracted to hold a conversation with the two of them. That is, until something piques my interest. “What was that?” I ask, interrupting Asra mid sentence. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

“The plague. It just… seemed to come out of nowhere,” He explains. “I’m surprised Lucio bothered to come to vacation this year when a quarter of his city is dying, and the numbers are rapidly growing,” 

“That can’t be right,” I say, and Asra raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he doesn’t know the extent of it…” I can hear how feeble my excuses are, but Asra only seems annoyed at Lucio, not at me. 

“Oh he knows. He just won’t bother doing anything until it affects him directly,” He says, and I open my mouth to try and defend him again when I remember my first day in the city. Passing the Coliseum and hearing his laughter, and Portia’s remarks about him. Before I can say anything else, or even process another thought, two white blurs enter my line of vision and I have a few moments to prepare myself for Mercedes and Melchior’s attentions. 

As I pet them, Asra and Julian have a quiet conversation behind my back about something inconsequential. I look up from where I’m petting the two dogs and see Lucio making his way to where we’ve stopped. And despite what I’ve heard and thought in the past few minutes about him, I can’t help but break into a smile at the sight of him. He smirks back at me. 

“Jules! Asra!” He says brightly as soon as he’s in earshot. Asra and Julian fall silent. The tension is almost tangible, and everyone but Lucio seems to notice it. Or maybe he does and he’s just better at hiding his discomfort than others. The conversation after is stitled and awkward, and Julian and Asra find the first reason they can to leave us. 

“Why did you invite them?” I ask Lucio as we walk back to the main house, the dogs switching from leading and following us. 

“Them? They’re my friends,” He says, smiling an uncomfortable smile. “Well, I really only invited Jules and that’s because he’s my personal physician,” He adds, almost an afterthought. I don’t say anything, just continue to walk beside him. As we draw nearer to the house, he smiles at me. “We’ll be having a dinner tonight, and I’d like it if you would join us,” and before I can say anything in response, he adds on, “You’re certainly dressed well enough for a formal dinner.” His smile turns into a smirk and he walks past me into the house. 

And, well, how can I refuse? 

****

The dinner itself is rather uneventful. There’s some conversation, most of which I don’t engage in. I exchange some words with Julian, questions about his work and his travels. Even though he explicitly asked me to come, Lucio doesn’t talk to me. It could be because we’re at separate ends of the table, but I can’t help but wonder who made the seating chart for the dinner. 

After the dinner, we all move to one of the drawing rooms. Even though I’ve poked my head in this room, the times before it had been dusty and unused. But now it’s clean and feels lived in, a fire warmly crackling in the fireplace, more for ambience than actual warmth. I stand to one side of the room, taking sips from a flute that some servant handed me a few minutes ago. Lucio continues to talk to his courtiers, almost ignoring me. The ice cold talons of jealousy run down my spine, and I have to turn away from where he stands, laughing at something Valerius said.  
Asra and Julian stand at the opposite corner of the room, and both brighten when I approach. I’ve grown to like them over the past day, during our conversations outside and at dinner. We make small talk, occasionally swapping anecdotes and enjoying each other’s company. But even during this, a part of my mind is hyper aware of Lucio’s voice and laughter carrying across the room, and his presence in the room without being present with me. 

At some point, the two keeping me company call it a night, and head out, Asra without bothering to say goodnight, and Julian with a brief wave to the rest of the guests. And I’m alone at the edge of the room, on my second glass of drink. It’s not doing much for me, sadly. I wonder if I’d enjoy the present company more with less inhibitions. 

It’s been three quarters of an hour when I decide to finally leave, noticing that the conversation and antics of the Count and his courtiers aren’t anywhere close to being finished. It looks like they’re arm wrestling now, the others watching on in a range of apathy to worry to excitement. They’re debating whether or not using magically enhanced limbs is allowed when I silently slip from the room. 

As I walk down the hall to return to my room, I think about the book I’ve been reading and change my course to pass the study. I twist the doorknob and find it unlocked, opening into the darkened study. I will the lamps around the room to light, not trusting my memory to help me navigate a pitch black room. And apparently, my mind has been so preoccupied with the events of the past two days that I also cannot remember where I last placed my book. 

I search the bookshelves I normally get my books from, running my fingers along the spines of the old and worn books, trying to work as fast as possible so I can finally relax and go to sleep. I finally feel the familiar worn binding and pull the book out, at the same moment I feel his eyes on me. 

I spin around to see Lucio in the doorway, standing with arms crossed, alone. I roll my eyes at him, letting the annoyance and anger I’ve been feeling for the past day finally come to the surface of my mind. 

“Sir?” I ask, quiet but firm. He blinks at me, as if he suddenly forgot why he came into the room. “Do you need something or are you just here to stand there?” 

“Why did you leave?” He asks, almost cutting the end of my question off. I furrow my brows at him. 

“I wasn’t needed anymore, and I was tired.” 

“You could have said something,” He says, moving to me. “You could have joined the conversation, you know.” 

“No, you were plenty busy and I didn’t want to interrupt,” I say, trying to end this conversation now. He either doesn’t get the hint or is blatantly ignoring it.

“Do you want me to stay with you now?” He asks, “I can spend some time with you now, if you miss me that much.” I narrow my eyes at him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to continue entertaining your guests?” I spit the last word out, almost surprising myself with the contempt I said the words with. He looked taken aback, before he smiled that stupid shit-eating grin. 

“My, are you jealous, Miss Wycliffe?” He asks, and I sputter. 

“No! I just-”

“Don’t want me spending time with other people? You want all my attention for you?” He mocks and I flush, either in anger or embarrassment. Probably both. He advances, an almost cruel glint in his eyes. “And yet you don’t think about how I feel when I see you with your servant friends, or even earlier when you were getting along so well with our guests? You aren’t thinking about me or my duties as a count? You’re being selfish.” He’s too satisfied with himself, acting like he’s come across the answer to all the questions in the world. 

“That’s not true,” I snap. He raises his eyebrows, wanting me to defend myself and yet I can’t find the words. I’ll never admit it to him but I am jealous. I don’t want him talking to the others. And it’s not like they truly appreciate him, either. Asra’s snide comments that he ignores, and Julian’s indifference to him has not gone unnoticed by me. I can’t say much for the courtiers, but political friendships will only go so far before they’re stabbing you in the back to gain more power from another source. 

I’ve waited too long to answer, and instead of just admitting defeat, I turn to leave but he grabs my arm. “Let me go, sir.” I say, struggling weakly. He doesn’t, but instead draws me closer to him. His pull is weak enough that if I really wanted to, I could break free of his grasp. And he knows this, it’s on purpose. He knows I don’t want to break his hold. 

He takes my chin with his other hand and tips it up, to look him in the eyes. “Say it. Say you’re jealous.” He says, almost in a whisper, and I set my jaw. 

“I won’t because it’s not true,” I hiss back. He looks down his nose at me, and I feel smaller than I ever have in his presence before. I think back to how powerful I felt this morning when his eyes took in my body and now I feel shamefully exposed. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” He whispers, before moving past me and out of the room. I watch him leave and try to ignore the wild beating of my heart. 

That night, when I’ve climbed into bed, I do my best to not think about the conversations of the past day, knowing I’ll just get upset again. But I do let my thoughts wander to the Count and how the heavy and heated weight of his gaze on my own felt, and how the warmth left from his hold could’ve burned me and I still wouldn’t have broken his grip. And it’s with these thoughts that I drift into an uneasy but dreamless sleep, listening to the sounds of wind and chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	7. Chapter 7

_"...in my secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others." -Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë_

I’m suffocating. It’s too hot under my covers, and my thin nightgown sticks to my skin from sweat. After a few moments of trying to will myself into sleep again, I sigh and throw the covers back and slip out of my bed. 

The hall is dark, the aged wood glossy and cool beneath my feet. I stay off the runner in the middle of the hall, savoring the cool relief from the hard floor. It’s quiet in the house, but it’s freeing. Even though I know there are plenty of others in the house, I feel alone. I know I’m not condemned to my room during the night, but either way I don’t want to run into anyone, or anything. Unbidden, the memory of chains and heavy footsteps enters my thoughts, and my heart speeds up. Before I know it, I’m quickening my pace, needing to get out of the house. The darkness of the house, the corners where no light reaches even in the daytime, are no longer my friend. I don’t think they ever were.

Finally, I yank open the door to the outdoors and burst into the still night. Fireflies dot in and out of existence, looking like stars that have deigned to visit the earth, and it’s blissfully quiet, with the exception of crickets chirping in the distance. My heart slows, although I can feel the looming presence of Tawnwild behind me. I look up to the sky. Stars wink at me from the sky, and the partial moon gives hardly any light to the grounds. But even without light, I am peaceful. The sky above me is the same sky that my family and my town are looking at, hundreds of miles away. It’s the same sky I’ve always looked at, finding shapes in the seemingly random spattering of stars and clouds. Finding the magic in normalcy. Nostalgia bites tears at the corners of my eyes, and I am torn between feeling sad at the time that is no longer or happy that I am blessed with such content memories. 

I turn my sight away from the sky, and spot the large chestnut tree, its branches and leaves swaying lightly in the breeze. It doesn’t seem that long ago when Emily and I had sat beneath it, and I had asked about Lucio, before I had even met him. Proud and crass, that’s what she said. And yet I don’t feel like those are Lucio’s main characteristics. Yes, he has displayed great pride and has had vulgar moments, but there’s a softness to him that I only see every once in a while. I wonder if he’s noticed that I’ve seen it, when my eyes flicker to him when he isn’t looking. How happy he is when he sees his dogs, even if they are being brats. How his eyebrows furrow when he tries to read a document or book that’s been placed in front of him, chewing his lip in concentration. How he’ll roll his shoulders back when getting up from sitting in a chair too long, fingers twitching from the lack of movement. 

But conversely, there’s also a darker glint behind his eyes. I see it when he makes the maids fetch him food that has set out for a moment too long and has lost a fraction of it’s burning heat. I see it in the kills he brings back from the forests, large and small animals alike, killed for sport. I see it in the gleam of his blade when he practices his swordsmanship in the yard, his muscles flexing with strength for the battles he’ll never fight in again. I saw it in his eyes when he pulled me to him last night and called me a jealous liar. 

I’m so wound up in my conflicting thoughts that I don’t hear the door opening and only start when it closes, loud in the silence. I spin around, and the Count is watching me. I blink. Speak of the devil, I suppose. Or, rather think.

“...Sir,” The word is soft, and I’m not sure he even heard it. A light breeze brings with it the smell of lavender and roses, presumably from the gardens. He’s regarding me, and I’m suddenly overly aware of what I’m wearing. The silence goes on for too long, us staring at each other. During the silence, he walks to stand in front of me. “I’m sorry, I needed some fresh air, I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Neither could I,” He says, his voice deeper from the night. 

I take a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say to my feet. 

“For what?” 

I look up at him, jaw set. “You know what. I’m sorry that I was…” jealous. The word hangs in the air, unspoken but understood by the two of us. 

“You should never be sorry for wanting me to yourself, just stop trying to hide it from me,” He smiles, and I don’t miss the glint in his eyes. Possessiveness, perhaps, but it’s gone before I can attempt to place it. 

His gaze jumps from my eyes to my lips, and his smile fades. My mind races and I take a small step back. I don’t know why I did. But he pauses, furrowing his brow. He brings his right hand, his human one, and traces along the line of my jaw with his knuckle. His fingertips brushes across my lips, and I press a light kiss to them. He inhales sharply, almost a shudder, looking back into my eyes. 

We stand like that for a few moments, his hand cupping my jaw and my own placed over that. But then something changes in his eyes and he turns abruptly, and heads back into the house, without a glance back at me. 

I watch him leave, bringing my own fingertips to my lips, tracing the path his own just took. Even so, I fall asleep- and stay asleep- as soon as my head hits my pillow.

****

The next day is full of rushing bodies, mostly servants, preparing the ballroom for the party. I wake up (for the second time) late. My heart drops to my stomach, afraid that I’ve slept through the morning and neglected my duties. But looking over at the small clock on my bedside table reassures me that, even though I have still slept in, the day hasn’t been wasted. My eyes drift from the clock, which is relatively plain, to a envelope resting right below it, placed on top of my book. It’s cream colored, with red border running along it. 

I hastily pick it up, turning it over in my hands. There’s golden wax seal with a crest pressed into it, and I snap it and find a simple sheet of stationary inside. 

It’s from Lucio. I stare at it for a few moments, not really in disbelief (though slightly), but because he has the worst handwriting I’ve ever seen. How he manages to get any paperwork done efficiently is beyond me, but I squint my eyes and begin to decipher the words. 

_Don’t worry about the dogs, you can have the day off._ The first line reads, and I’m grateful, even though it seems like I’ve had more than my fair share of days off. _I also ordered you a dress for the ball, because I know you don’t have anything that would be suitable for it. Don’t ask the price- you don’t want to know._ With that, he sloppily signed the note along with a little doodle of… something. I tilt my head, but the lines don’t create a picture. It could be a dog, if I look at it the right way… or maybe it’s a goat. 

I put the sheet back in the envelope and back onto the table, slipping out of bed. The room feels stuffy, and I throw open the windows, letting in the warm air and a light breeze begins to flutter the curtains. There’s a few scented candles scattered around, and with a snap of my fingers I light them. I stretch, my muscles and joints popping and cracking, and I feel an ache in my thighs and upper arms. Last night feels ages away in the light of the morning. 

I look around my room, trying to figure out what to do first. I won’t need to start getting ready for the party for a few hours yet, so I really do have time to kill. My gaze falls on my vanity, noticing the Count’s other gift. Resting in the middle of the dressing table is a brown paper bundle wrapped with ribbon. Tied to the ribbon is a simple tag with my name in Lucio’s hand. I smile and cut it off, before placing it in the frame of the largest vanity mirror. There’s something endearing about seeing my name in his writing. 

Inside the package is the dress Lucio mentioned in his note. The one he asked me not to ask the price of, and looking at it, I’m not sure I’d be able to hazard a guess. It’s a deep red, of course, knowing Lucio. The neckline is high with long, tight sleeves, and something in me warms at the sight, surprised that he managed to not get something with a plunging neckline, on par with his own wardrobe. That isn’t to say that it’s a prude dress- there is a small oval shaped cut out right below the collar, thin and long, ending right at the bust. So, it’s a bit more revealing than I would normally venture (with the exception of that one blouse) but still in my comfort zone.

I lay the dress out on top of my bed and head into the bathroom to wash up and waste more time before I need to start getting ready. 

I’ve just gotten out of the bath and slipped a robe on when there’s a knock at my door. I start, looking down at my state of undress, but Emily calls out to me from behind the door. I’m surprised, but allow her to let herself in. She places a tray of tea and some finger foods on the vanity before her eyes fall onto the dress. Before I can say any greeting, she’s gaping at me, and I’m giggling back. 

“He bought you that?” She asks after a moment of her trying to gain her tongue’s abilities again, and running her hands up and down the fabric of the full skirt. I nod, turning from her and the dress to find my undergarments. “He must really like you then!” 

“Oh, I don’t know about tha-” I start to say, but she gives me a sharp look, one I didn’t really know she could make. 

“Don’t play coy with me! I see how you look at him, and better yet, how he looks at you, when the two of you think the other isn’t looking!” She says, gingerly easing herself into the chair by the window. I shake my head at her. 

“It’s just a dress, it’s not like it’s a wedding ring!” I laugh, sitting at the vanity and beginning the process of brushing my hair. 

“Well, he wouldn’t do that,” She says, with an air of finality that stings. And then I’m annoyed at myself for allowing it to sting, when she’s right. 

“So, are you going to the ball?” I ask after a moment. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question the sloppy subject change. 

“No, but I do have the night off. I might get some reading done, I’m way behind on the book I’m reading,” We continue chatting idly like this while we drink our tea and eat the food she brought. After we’ve had our fill, she bites her lip, looking back at the dress. “Hey- can I do your makeup?” She asks suddenly, and I’m so surprised at the random nature of her question that I nod before I’ve even comprehended her words. I hadn’t really been planning on doing any makeup on myself, but looking at the elegance of the dress, I don’t think my plain face with some moisturizer would cut it. 

We continue chatting as she applies creams and powders onto my face, covering up the minuscule mistakes that I hadn’t even noticed were there. Emily doesn’t do anything drastic, just accentuating lines and softening edges with a steady hand. 

After looking back at the dress, I figure it would be wise to just tie my hair up, but Emily stops me. 

“At least do something with it, braids, decorative hair pins- just to make it more elegant,” She says, prying my hands away from my head. She begins to twist strands of my hair before pinning them up, creating an intricate design that she makes look easy. I watch her work in the mirror, twiddling my thumbs and chatting idly. She’s done sooner than I anticipated, and my hair has all been braided and pinned on top of my head. 

“It looks… amazing, Emily!” I say, turning around and hugging her. She giggles. 

“Just have a good time, for me?” She asks, and I nod. She smiles, and leaves, leaving me to put on the dress by myself. It’s fairly simple to do so, with some lacing in the back for adjustments. I stand alone, looking in the mirror at my reflection. It’s odd. I don’t feel particularly dressed up, but if I turn my head one way, my whole demeanor becomes heightened and elegant, nothing like the girl playing pretend that I am. 

****

The Count had said that the ball would be a small affair. And yet, as I descend the staircase, the halls are filled with people. Not so crowded that I have to push my way through them, that it feels claustrophobic, but enough that it does not feel like an intimate affair. The party has been going on for an hour or so, and yet the atmosphere feels like a party well on its way to the sixth or seventh hour, and going strong. 

I weave my way through the crowd of people, not sure what to do. We had festivals back in Orpheia, but not like this. Those were mainly for holidays and involved a lot more ritual and celebrating. This is just… gorgeous chaos. I pass by groups of people intoxicated, either on the wine or on each other. I know Lucio invited the few people from the city, but the rest of the attendees must be from the town. 

The ballroom’s doors are thrown open, and I, again, wonder what Lucio’s definition of “small” is. The walls are decked with ribbons and drapery, imitating being inside a giant tent. There’s a string quartet playing in the corner, and couples dance in the center of the room, talking and laughing with each other. The Courtiers stand at the edges of the room, and Valerius’s steely eyes meet mine. He raises an eyebrow my way, cold and appraising, looking me up and down. I look away quickly and try to find someone else to talk with. 

Julian and Asra are by one of the many tables laden with food and drink, chatting with each other. I make my way over to them, and manage to catch the last bits and pieces of the conversation before Julian spots me. Something about the Plague that Asra mentioned yesterday and… a name I haven’t heard before. Nadine? Nelia? Something along those lines, but I suppose it doesn’t really have anything to do with me. They stop talking when I approach. 

Julian smiles at me, and the three of us exchange pleasantries. But I find myself unable to focus on more than small talk, and I keep looking over my shoulder, trying to spot the Count. After a few minutes, I excuse myself, noting that the conversation wasn’t really going anywhere. Julian and Asra jump right back into the conversation they were having before I interrupted. 

Lucio spots me before I’ve even had enough time to survey to room for him. I only notice him making his way to me when I see how the others move out of his way- or in a few cases, move into his way, trying to talk. He dismisses them with a wave of his hand. Lucio smiles at me as soon as he’s within earshot, and gestures around him at the opulence surrounding us. “How do you like my party?” 

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit out of my element here,” I say, trying to conceal my nerves. The corners of his mouth turn down slightly, and I know that my nervousness must be showing. “But I really am glad to be here, truly!” I reassure him, and he takes a moment to look in my eyes before he opens his mouth to say something. As he does, the string quartet finishes their piece and a pianist sits down to start another dance. He glances around the room, before looking back at me and smiling. 

“Dance with me,” He says, and sweeps me into a waltz before I can accept or deny his proposal. 

“I don’t know how to dance!” I say as he leads me onto the center of the dance floor. The waltz has a driving rhythm to it, sweeping and swaying the dancers along. They look wonderfully elegant, dresses and capes twirling around themselves. 

“Just let me lead,” He spins me around the room, and, while other couples chat, we don’t after that. I’m too focused on my feet and his hands to say anything. Our gazes are locked, and every time his body presses against mine I feel a shock of heat run through my body. I’m managing to pick up the dance the more we go around and around, and when he lifts me into the air, I can ignore all the other couples and it feels like we are the only two dancing in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the really long wait between these last two chapters. I'm gonna try to be more consistent with it but sometimes, life gets in the way, you know? For somewhat informal updates, feel free to follow my tumblr @summercourtship 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who has commented/left kudos, it means the world to me! 
> 
> I cannot stare at this chapter anymore, so thank you again!


	8. Chapter 8

_“I cannot sleep. I cannot breathe. I cry his tears. I sense the secrets of his past. I feel his fears.”-Sirens, Jane Eyre: the Musical_

I start my morning early the next day, stretching and yawning an hour before I normally awake. The world outside is covered in a thin mist, the gentle light of dawn coloring the landscape like a watercolor. It’s cool in my room, and I smile to myself, remembering last night. 

 

Lucio had lead me in a few more dances, before I had complained of being tired and he reluctantly let me go. I had grinned at him before telling him good night, and he gave me a small smile back. I like his smile. Especially in comparison to his smirk, which seems to only occur before he makes a tasteless joke or is going to poke fun at you. 

I push back the covers and almost jump out of bed, ready to start the day. I had left my hair in the intricate updo that Emily had put it in, and when I finally pull out the pins, my hair is stiff and bent out of shape. When running a hand through it doesn’t help get out the kinks, I decide to just take another bath, and relish at the thought of being able to take my time soaking in the warm water. Besides, somehow glitter got on me, and heaven knows that will take a while to scrub off. 

While I sit in the warm water, I watch the sky turn from shades of pink and oranges to the pale beginnings of blue through the large circular window. I slide down into the water, holding my breath as I submerge myself completely. The distinct feeling of weightlessness and the faint sense of danger from being underwater is something I find myself enjoying immensely, and I wait until the absolute last minute to return to the surface of the bath, gasping for air. I do this multiple times, each time pushing myself further and further until the sensation of being without breath no longer causes me any stress, only peace. 

 

****

The study is empty when I’m released from my duties for the day. It’s early, but the Count decided to take advantage of the day and go hunting. I wonder, not for the first time, if my job is really that necessary, but shake it off. It pays, and that’s what matters. Besides, if I didn’t have this job I would never have gotten to know Lucio, and would probably be stuck in some tourist trap of a shop in the city, making less than half than what I do now. 

And yet again I’m struck with the absolute astounding amount of luck I’ve had in being able to secure a job here, and so soon after I’d arrived. It seemed that fate had smiled on me, where it had ignored my whole family my entire life before. My heart stutters when I think of my family, and remind myself to write to them soon, and check for any letters back. I don’t know how quickly the post works here, but it can’t hurt to check the next time I’m in town. 

I run my fingers along the spines of the books, looking for any titles that jump out at me. A lot of the books in the library are histories and the occasional medical journal, which can be fascinating when you’re in the mood for it. But I’m not in the mood for it. I’m in the mood for, and I laugh at myself when I realize that I’m looking for something with a sweeping romance and far off places. I doubt that the Count’s library holds many books of that particular fancy, but I can’t help scanning the shelves for them, anyway. 

“Why are you in here?” 

I spin around to see Valerius, looking down his nose at me from the doorway. He’s frowning, an eyebrow raised. I’ve never seen him with anything but disgust or indifference on his features. 

“I’m allowed to be in here,” I say, stepping away from the shelves. “Why are you in here? I thought you would have been hunting with the Count,” I stand behind one of the leather armchairs, trying to look as imposing as possible. I don’t think it works, as his countenance doesn’t change in the slightest. He moves further into the room, surveying it all with eyes that I can’t discern emotion from. I wonder if he’s been in here before, but quickly correct myself. Of course he’s been in here before, he doesn’t look at all out of place amongst the leather bound books and dark furniture. 

“I’m not a fan of the sport, no,” He responds, taking a sip from the glass of wine he cradles in his long fingered hand. I fight back the urge to roll my eyes at the display of carefully practiced indifference, opting to instead step around him and leave the room before I am stuck in an awkward situation. I’m almost out the door when he speaks again. “I wonder what will become of you when the Count returns to the city,” He drawls, and I stop. 

“What do you mean?” I look back at the Consul, and he looks idly amused, raising an eyebrow at me. 

“I mean that Lucio gets bored easily, and I’m sure once he’s surrounded by members of high society again, he won’t bother with you anymore. You might as well start searching for a new job now, he won’t need your-” He gives me a quick once over, taking in my frumpy clothes and disheveled nature, sneering as he finishes, “-services once back in the palace. Your plain little village girl act won’t keep him interested forever, and the city is filled with colorful people. You’ll look like an unpolished metal in comparison to all that silver available to him… Pity,” 

I know he’s trying to goad me, to make me insecure and inferior, but I can’t help but recognize that there very well could be some truth in his words. The knowledge doesn’t stop me from lifting my chin and saying, “You’re wrong,” and leaving the room as fast as I can, willing the blood to leave my cheeks. 

But when I enter my room again and press myself against the door, blissfully alone, I can’t help but replay his words over and over and over again in my mind. And some part of my mind whispers that he’s right. If Lucio was actually interested in me, aside from for mild amusement, he would have made some move. Done something, aside from chastise me for being human. But even when I think back to that conversation, I wonder if he was teasing me, making fun of me for growing attached to him. 

I catch my eye in the mirror, the setting sun throwing slanted rays of light throughout the room and across my face. As I stare at my reflection, I can’t help but notice that the Consul is right. I am plain. And from what I remember of my short time in the city, everyone there is amazingly unique. Everyone is so beautiful that I stand out for being simply average. 

“How dare you think there’s a place in his heart for you,” I whisper to my reflection. The piece of paper with my name on it seems to mock me, and I feel like an idiot for bothering to tuck it away, as if it were a remnant of the Count’s feelings when in actuality it was probably nothing more than a passing thought. I pull it out of the mirror frame, and contemplate ripping it to pieces, but I can’t bring myself to tear it up. Even if he really doesn’t care for me, perhaps I’ll want the memento when I’m older and reminiscing on the time I was dumb enough to believe that someone as important as a Count could care for me. 

As I continue to look at my reflection, all the features that I had once thought were endearing are now unattractive, and the knot in my stomach tightens. I turn away, unable to stand staring at myself any longer. I let myself fall face first into my bed, before pulling the throw over myself and curling into a ball. The rays of the sun slowly move across the room, and I watch numbly as the room darkens. My thoughts move in circles, rotating between analyzing every word I’ve spoken to the Count, every moment we’ve spent together, and Valerius’ words. I think back to what Asra said about Lucio, and I wonder again if he is really more cruel that I have given him credit for. 

I must fall asleep at some point, for I’m awakened by the heavy thuds of footsteps and loud voices echoing in the hall. My eyes open to complete darkness, the sun not yet risen. The silence that fills the room feels stagnant, and I realize that the noises were simply in my dream. Still, I feel the need to check the hall anyway, just to make sure that everything is really okay out there. Before I open the door, I hear the distinct creak of a footstep on the aged wood of the hallway. I take a deep breath and throw the door open. 

The hallway is pitch black, and I step out, holding my light in front of me with a shaking hand. I can’t tell where the noise came from, and all is quiet. The dark is almost oppressive, choking me with it’s depth and thickness. My heart beat is the only noise I can pick up on, and the light I’ve conjured is weak and flickering. It’s never flickered before, and the sight of the ball of light almost dancing like an irritated flame causes shivers to erupt over my arms and neck, goosebumps making my hair stand on end.

And I can feel it. I’m being watched. I whip around to look into the dark end of the hall towards the rooms that aren’t occupied and the thin set of stairs to the attic, my mind creating faces and sneers out of the dark nothing. But when my light illuminates a tall expanse of fur and vivid red eyes I know that there is no way in Hell my imagination has created that. I cry out loudly at the sight of crooked, grinning teeth and my light disappears, sputtering out like a dying flame, and I’m alone in the dark.

Silence. 

No, not quite silent. Raspy breathing, almost indiscernible from the heavy quiet that fills the space. The sharp, metallic ring of chains dragging, the same noise I’ve been hearing almost every other night since I first came to Tawnwild. It surrounds me, as if it’s in the distance and right up against my ears, as if it’s in my mind. I’m dizzy and disoriented, and the only thing I’m certain of is the floor beneath me. And I’m only sure of it when I’ve collapsed, head hanging and chest heaving. My hands have curled into fists, fingernails biting into my palms. 

I don’t know when it became quiet, but I’m suddenly aware of a ringing in my ears, and I’m grasping for any sound, any noise that’s familiar and human. My heart is beating so loud that it almost sounds like footfalls on carpeting, slow and steady. Wait. I can feel my heart beating wildly, not to the same rhythm as the soft noise I’m hearing now. Despite my better judgement, I look up. 

Lucio stands above me, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. Or maybe it would be readable if I could see it clearly. It’s still fairly dark in the hall and even though my eyes have started to adjust, my vantage point of Lucio is not the best. I try to stand, but when I push up with my arms they buckle underneath me and I fall even further onto the ground. I draw in a shaky breath, too shaken to care about what I must look like, collapsed on the ground at his feet. 

“What is going on here?” I ask, voice cracking and trembling. It comes out barely audible, and Lucio doesn’t answer. “Please, sir, just tell me what… what that thing is. I know you understand what I’m talking about, and I just want some semblance of a peace of mind,” I say, drawing the strength to push myself into a seated position, before standing. I lean against the wall for support, but set my jaw and look up at him. He shifts his eyes, uncomfortable. Part of me wants to take back my questions, but I need answers, and I can’t back away now, not in this situation. 

“They say… They say the Devil stalks these halls,” He starts, meeting my eyes. He doesn’t elaborate further. In fact, his tone was very final. But that’s not enough for me. 

“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling a chill run down my spine. Lucio, I have learned over my time with him, is not normally one to be cryptic. 

“It means you shouldn’t leave your room at night, and you’ll be safe.” He says, before actually taking me in. “Why are you still in your clothes?” 

I’m confused for a moment, before I realize what he means. I don’t enjoy the fact that he so carelessly changed the subject, but I decide to just drop it. If he doesn’t want to speak, he won’t. “I dozed off, I guess,” I shrug, moving to go back to my room, brushing past him. “I’m sorry for waking you,” I mumble, closing the door behind me before he can respond. As I make my way back to my bed, I strip off my layers of clothes, letting them stay wherever they drop. I’ll pick them up in the morning. The sheets of the bed are cool against my bare skin, and I pull the covers up over my head, leaving only my face poking out into the dark room. My thoughts unwillingly turn back to the events of the past day, from Valerius’s comments and whatever Lucio meant about the being in the hallway. I suppose my only comfort for the latter is that I’ll be gone from this place soon, but that is the only silver lining in my impending departure. I shut my eyes tight and will myself back asleep.

****

Laughter spills out of the dining room, but I continue walking past the doors, which are slightly ajar. I had been invited to dine with the guests, which I decline, claiming a headache, but really the thought of being in the same room as the courtiers makes my stomach churn. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I’ve rounded to corner into the hallway away from the dining room, and let out a sigh of relief. 

The scullery is mostly empty, save for Mrs. Lowery and-

“Oh!” 

Julian looks up at me from his bowl of soup, and grins. He’s sitting at the table, and by the looks of it, was having a conversation with Mrs. Lowery before I interrupted. 

“Don’t you have a lunch you’re supposed to be at, right now?” He asks, after he swallows a spoonful of soup, raising an eyebrow mischievously. I grab myself my own bowl of soup, still warm from where the pot simmers over a fire. The scullery smells of fresh bread and spices, and I wonder what the Count had made for his dining party. I hope he wonders where I am, even with my excuse. 

“Couldn’t I ask the same of you, Doctor?” I respond, and he waves his hand at me. 

“None of that doctor stuff, please just call me Julian,” I nod, smiling at him. Julian has to be my favorite of the guests, he’s the one who has made the most effort to be friendly towards me. I suppose I don’t mind Asra, but he seems to be holding me at a distance, either because he doesn’t know me or because of my relationship with the Count (or lack thereof, my mind supplies, unhelpfully). However, the Courtiers have been nothing but unkind and condescending towards me. But only when the Count can’t see, as if they’re afraid of his reaction to their behavior. You’d think that would make them change their attitudes, and yet…. They don’t. 

“So you’re headed out tomorrow?” I ask, even though I know the answer already. I’ll be sad to see Julian and Asra go, but I look forward to the estate being a bit quieter. Although, it really isn’t that quiet anyway when the Count’s around.

“Back to the city, yep. It’s not too bad, I know you haven’t really been there,” He says, and butterflies fill my stomach again at the mention of my leaving. 

“I guess I’ll have to look for another job soon,” I say, grimacing. Julian shrugs and smiles at me. 

“If you ever need a friendly hand, just find me- or Asra, whoever’s around,” He says. “Asra owns a little magic shop, near the marketplace.” I smile at him, and we continue our idle chit-chat. I find out that Portia, who is the reason I got this job, is Julian’s sister, which makes me marvel at the happy coincidences that litter our lives. Eventually, I decide to head back to my room, happy for the conversation, but tired of interacting with others, even if it's just Julian. As I leave, I pass by the dining room, where the Count has just exited. Hurt flashes temporarily in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak to me, but I continue past him, walking quickly so he can’t call out to me. He does anyway, but I ignore him and continue on. I figure that if he’s going to become bored with me, might as well not set myself up for the heartbreak of being abandoned and distance myself from him now, so it hurts less when he does finally drop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Promise the next chapter will come out faster than these past few have been, I've just been very busy with school and life stuff. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos, it means so so so much to me, you don't understand how much seeing a comment brightens my day and makes me want to work on this more and give you all the story you deserve (I hope you're happy with it haha). Even though I don't respond to the comments, know that I see them all and read them all over and over again, it really does mean a lot. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also there was quite a few references to the Jane Eyre musical in this chapter that I just couldn't stop myself from inserting in there.... Mainly from the song "Painting Her Portrait", which is a BANGER
> 
> Also pt. 2: I remade the playlist for this fic, so if you care for that kinda thing, the link is in my profile :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elowen is a dumb bitch

_“I dare not hope. I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.” ― Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South_

The sky is blue above me, the occasional cloud drifting through my line of vision. Mercedes and Melchior are laying near me, basking in the sun after their typical morning routine. I’m blissfully alone, laying in the grass and weeds, enjoying the comfortable silence, with only the occasional buzz of a bee or song of a bird breaking the quiet. But I, myself, am not comfortable. My thoughts keep drifting to Lucio, and I want to curse. Ever since both Julian and Valerius mentioned it, I cannot help but worry about my future in Vesuvia. And with Lucio. 

I’ve been berating myself over and over this past week, for being a fool and believing there to be something of importance between the two of us. How stupid I must seem to the Count, too eager to fall into a rabbit hole of feelings that I didn’t even notice that he obviously couldn’t care much for me. I’m just another amusement, another activity to take up his vacation time when he tires of hunting and enjoying the countryside. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lucio says, startling me from my reprieve. I quickly stand, before giving him a small curtsey. 

“Sir,” I say as a greeting, but wanting, desperately, to run away and hide in my room. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” He repeats, more pointed this time. 

“You’ve been busy, with your… people,” I’m deflecting, and he can tell. 

“Funny response for a girl who, if I remember correctly, couldn’t stand me having a conversation with those same people just a week ago,” He says, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. Before I can answer, he continues. “I return to the city in less than three weeks,” he says. I nod, ignoring the pain it gives me to think about the little amount of time left. And then, once again, curse myself for caring. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when your time here is up?”

It takes me a moment to comprehend his question. “I suppose I could advertise, either around here or return to the city again,” I say, uncertain of myself. I hadn’t really thought about it realistically, about what will happen after I’m jobless again. I’ve been too busy wallowing to bother thinking about productive uses of my time. A part of me hopes he’ll offer me something in the Palace, but I don’t want to put too much faith in that idea. _After all,_ a snide voice in my head supplies, _you are just a passing entertainment for him._

“You suppose,” He hums. Then he smiles at me. It’s a sly, mischievous smile, one that I haven’t seen on him. “I’ve found you a job,” He sounds proud of himself. Overly proud. He gestures to me and we begin walking towards the willow tree. 

I look over at him as we walk. Can he really mean- 

“Have you ever been to Prakra?” He watches me carefully as I fully understand his question. 

“Prakra?” I gasp, unable to avoid my shock from bleeding into my voice. “But… that’s so far, sir,” He parts the willow’s branches and we stand under its canopy of leaves, the light soft and the air quiet. 

“But I’m sure you won’t mind the traveling? You don’t seem the type to dislike it. After all, you did travel quite a ways from your home just to get a job,”

“It’s not that, no I- it’s just quite a distance away,” I move away from him, further into the willow’s cascading leaves. Further into the shadows. 

“From what?” He asks, face carefully still. 

I’m frozen. I can’t just think of a lie on the spot, not when he’s looking at me like that and there are no other reasons for me to wish to remain in Vesuvia. I sigh and decide to fuck it all and just speak the truth. Even if it makes him laugh at me. “Well… from you, sir,” I say, looking at anything but Lucio. 

“Well, then,” He begins, and I want to turn, to run, to get out of this situation, get out from under this tree. I don’t want to hear him speak, mock me, belittle me for growing so attached to him. I can confess, that’s the easy part. It’s dealing with the consequences that’s hard. “I suppose we should spend our last few weeks together, then, shouldn’t we?” I look back at him, in surprise. Before I can answer his rhetorical question, he continues on. “You know, sometimes I feel as though there is a string connecting the two of us. I fear that if we are too far apart, it will snap and then you’ll slowly begin to forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” I say, looking at him. “No amount of distance or lack of communication between the two of us could make me forget,” 

He looks at me for a moment, lips parted in surprise. He has a slight coloring across his cheeks, but he schools his features back into his normal practiced smugness. But I delight in the fact that I’ve somehow managed to catch him off guard, even momentarily. He clears his throat. 

“Well, then perhaps you shouldn’t be sent off to Prakra,” He seems very interested in the dirt below his feet. 

“I’m glad I’ve managed to sway you, at least in that respect,” Despite his words, the insecure voices in my head remind me of what I more than likely am to him. I wonder for a moment if I’m just being stubbornly bitter. Before I can stop myself, I’m speaking again, word from a place I hadn’t known existed. “I wish I had never been born. Or, at least, never have come here,” I look off into the distant woods through the willow’s branches, the leaves on the trees swaying in the breeze unfelt to us on the ground. 

I can feel him look at me. “Why would you ever wish that?” I shrug.

“So I wouldn’t have to leave. Even if I do not go to Prakra, I will be separated from this estate, which I have grown to love, and, well, from you, sir, who I-” I stop myself before I can continue. Tears sting my eyes, and I stubbornly refuse to turn my head to Lucio. “And yet, I recognize why I must leave you, and yet it feels like recognizing the inevitability of death,” 

He’s quiet. “What reason?” 

“Your life in the city, of course,” 

“...What do you mean?”

I pause, composing myself. I will not cry in front of him (not again, anyway). 

“I wish… I wish that I were beautiful and rich so that you could understand. So that you could feel how hard it is for me to leave you. Do you think me so plain and simple that I cannot recognize that once you get back into the city, with your lavish parties and extravagant palaces, that I will simply not be able to compare? That I will soon become just a mere passing thought in your mind, if I’m lucky?” I say, finally turning to look at him. “I am speaking to you from my soul- to your own heart. As your equal, for perhaps what may be the last time,” 

And then, before I’ve comprehended the look on his face or the gleam in his eye, he’s kissing me. I’m so surprised by the sudden contact that I stiften up for a moment before softening into the kiss. 

“Equal, yes, equal,” He breathes, our faces still too close for comfort. Mainly because I’m afraid that I’ll close the distance between us again, I take a small step back, but he does not let me out of his embrace. 

“And yet, we are not. And we can never be. I am not of your standing or even of the same culture. It’s a fine sentiment but it does nothing to change the fact that I am just a poor village girl,” I try to push myself out of his arms, but he pulls me tighter to him, into an odd version of a comforting hug. 

“Elowen- stop struggling. You’re like a bird, ruining your own plumage in your struggle.” I don’t stop. As much as I would love to believe his claims about equality between us, my mind just replays Valerius’ comments back to me. Lucio’s toying with me, for his own amusement, and I cannot allow it to continue if I’m to escape this place with an ounce of pride.

“I am no bird, and nothing cages me. I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now use to leave you- let me go!” I repeat, and he consents. I only move back a step or so, and try to slow down my frantically beating heart. I can still feel the weight of his lips on mine, but my mind has not- cannot comprehend it. The action and the motivation behind it.

He, too, takes a step back, and leans against the willow. He looks me up and down, before his eyes brighten and he looks me straight in the eye. I cannot break the contact, and I don’t think that I could have even if I wanted to. There’s something captivating about his silver eyes and I wonder if he realizes the power that he has in just his eyes alone. 

“And you decide your own fate. To which I ask you to accept my hand in marriage and in life.” I look at him, in surprise. I cannot tell his expression, but instead of seriously considering his question, I immediately put up any and all walls around my heart that I can. 

“Do you mock me, sir?” I say. He looks at me, disbelief on his features. 

“No, not at all. Marry me. Be my equal.” He moves until he’s standing in front of me, hands poised as if to wrap me in their embrace again.

This gives me pause. And I then recognize that the expression on his face is earnest and honest. “Do you mean it, truly?” I whisper into the space between us. 

“Do you doubt me?” 

“Completely, sir.” I laugh. 

“You strange, unearthly thing. Please, be my wife and let me be your husband,” he says. I search his eyes for any trace of malice, and cannot find it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that he has done terrible things. He’s admitted as much to me, and if he hadn’t, I’d learned from my time in the city and with Julian and Asra. And yet, I find my heart fluttering at the prospect of him somehow caring for me, against all odds. 

“...You love me?” 

“With all my being.” He peers at me, almost looking down at me. “Do you love me?” It’s a tentative, uncertain question. 

“For a while now, sir,” I confess. He smiles, so bright it could hurt.

“Oh, please stop with all that “sir” this and “sir” that,” He comes closer, wrapping me in his embrace again. It’s warm and secure and I feel completely at home. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Please, say my name,” It’s a request whispered against my skin, and I shudder at the feeling of his breath against me. I look up at him. Sometimes I feel I’ve gotten so used to his company that I forget just how handsome he is. 

“Lucio,” I breathe, and his eyes darken. Then he kisses me again, and I return it with equal fervor, not holding back like the last time. How terrible it would be if that had been the only time I ever got to experience this. His lips on mine. His hand on the back of my neck and at the small of my back, my own tangled in his hair. He moves us towards the tree, barely breaking us up, and presses me against the trunk. The bark scrapes at the skin of my back, but I could care less right now. 

He parts from me, and I attempt to follow his mouth but can’t when he puts his warm hand on my shoulder, stopping me in place. I fall back against the tree. “So,” He says, breathing heavy. “Is that a yes?” 

Instead of giving him an immediate answer, I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him back in for another kiss. “Yes,” I breathe after we’ve separated again. His forehead is resting against mine, and I stare into his eyes. “A thousand times, yes.” 

Almost as soon as I finish speaking, a loud clap of thunder peals through the sky, immediately followed by the sudden downpour of water. I gasp, and Lucio smiles at me before grabbing my hand. We run through the rain, getting soaked. We enter the stone archway to the courtyard and he presses me against the stone and kisses me again. He smiles against my lips, and I can’t help but laugh every time he parts from me and almost lets me go into the house before pulling me back in for another kiss. 

****

When I’m alone in my room that night, the candlelight illuminating my face in the mirror, I examine my reflection again. It’s stubbornly the same in the features, but there’s something different. A brightness in my eye, the redness of my lip, the blush of my cheek that hasn’t left despite the hours that have passed. 

The rain patters against the window, the low rumble of thunder accompanying it. I move from my vanity and my reflection to the window, looking out into the darkened grounds. As I’m idly staring at the window, a bolt of lightning strikes the willow tree, splitting it in two. I stare, shocked at the sudden destruction of something that had, for a few hours, held such an important significance to me.

I try not to think of it as an omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i apologize for any weird characterization things- this is the chapter that I "wrote" first in the process of developing this fic and going back and taking bits and pieces from it (which, some quotes are directly lifted from Jane Eyre) proved to be much harder and led to some weird spots (I think). If you didn't notice anything- great, I did my job well. If you did notice- shit, I did a bad job. Anyway, I don't like making excuses, so I'll leave you all with this. 
> 
> per always, forgive any and all mistakes. im tired and its the end of the semester.


	10. Chapter 10

_“A young woman in love always looks like Patience on a monument Smiling at Grief.” ― Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey_

When I wake up in the morning, I sit still in my bed for a few minutes, trying to wrap my head around the strange- but not unwelcome- turn my life has taken. I came to Vesuvia with barely any money, and now I was going to marry the Count? There was no way that this should have been possible- and yet I was the living proof that it was. I’m still not entirely convinced that yesterday wasn’t a dream, and that when I exit my room the illusion will be shattered. Lucio will give me a cold look and my heart will break, slowly but surely with every ignored glance. Before I can fall too far into my doubts, the destroyed willow tree outside catches my eye. The willow tree where he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me and I smile to myself, because that is the proof I needed to reassure myself, that yes. Yes, I am going to marry him. 

However, despite the fact that I am soon to be his bewedded, I am not yet, and I must continue on as normal. Someone, after all, does have to care for the dogs. I fear that I’ve been neglecting my duties in favor of sulking and avoiding Lucio. In all fairness, he could have said something if the dogs were suffering under my neglect. 

I quickly throw on my normal outfit and tie my hair up and out of my face. I’ve considered wearing it down occasionally, but it’s simply too hot here for that idea to be entertained for long. After lacing my boots, I head down to the scullery. The house is quiet, now that the guests have departed. I, certainly, feel more comfortable without the presence of the courtiers looming over my head. Julian and Asra, however, I do find myself missing occasionally, when I’m feeling lonely. But perhaps now that Lucio and I are good again- better, even- I don’t foresee myself being alone a lot. 

Mrs. Lowery is occupied over the fire, cooking what smells to be a soup or stew of some sort. When I enter the room, she looks up at me and scoffs, returning to her work. It’s not necessarily a new occurrence from her- her moods tend to shift rather quickly, and where she may have been friendly one moment, the next she’s barking orders and shoo-ing you out of her sight. A lovely woman, really. 

I grab a thick slice of bread and some cheese, placing it on a plate on the table. Frowning at the meal, I also grab an apple and start slicing it, careful not to let my fingers get too close to it’s sharp blade. 

“Is that soup?” I ask, briefly looking up at Lowery. She stops stirring for a moment before cooly confirming my question. A few minutes pass, in which I finish slicing the apple and am about to start eating when she clears her throat. She’s regarding me with a severe look on her face. It doesn’t suit her.

“I worry for you,” She says, but her tone doesn’t reflect worry. Disappointment, perhaps. I frown. “I just didn’t think you were that naive, that you were that kind of girl,” 

“I miss your meaning,” I say after a moment. 

“You know he’s much older than you, right?” Oh. We’re talking about Lucio now. 

“I assure you, ma’am, that age has nothing to do with it. I barely notice that he isn’t more than a few years my senior when I’m with him. And before you say anything, money also has nothing to do with it,” 

“I’m just concerned. You’re so young and I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you. He’s so high above your situation in life, it’s not very proper, is it?” I don’t want to comment that propriety doesn’t seem to be a big concern here, especially compared to my home. 

“I appreciate your concern, really, but I love him and he loves me-” her pitying expression deepens. I want to ask her why she’s so concerned with my personal affairs, but before I can I see her eyes shift to the doorway. 

Lucio stands in the doorframe, looking down into the room before descending the few stairs. “What’s this?” 

“You’re up early,” I say, keeping an eye on Lowery, who seems to have frozen. 

“Well, I woke up and went to your room- for no particular reason, don’t ask- but you weren’t there. Not that odd, but I figured you would have taken the opportunity to sleep in, dove,” The pet name throws me off for a moment, but I recover quick enough. 

“I have to take care of the dogs, still,” I say. He’s confused. 

“Why?”

“That’s my job, sir,” He takes a second, before waving a dismissive hand Lowery’s way. The housekeeper quickly bustles out, but not before seeming like she’ll say more to me. She shakes her head, grabs the overflowing laundry basket on the counter, and leaves the room. I, having finished my breakfast, grab the plate and head to the sink. 

“I thought we were getting married?” He asks, leaning onto the counter and my line of vision. 

“We are,” I agree. 

“Then why are you taking care of my dogs?”

 

“It’s my job.” He’s still confused. I sigh. “I think it would be best if we acted as normal as possible until the wedding. And that means going on with our lives as if nothing happened,” He’s about to protest, so I add: “at least during work hours. I don’t want anyone to think that this is rushed or isn’t fueled by genuine affection on either of our parts,” I finish my dish and set it aside for one of the other servants to dry. “So from when I wake up to about seven o'clock, we must remain professional. After that time, we may do as we wish,” 

He sighs. “And let me guess- that won’t be much, will it?” 

“It’ll be enough,” I respond. “You can certainly wait for two more weeks, can’t you, _my Count,_ ” I step close to him, tilting my head up slightly. He makes a noise, akin to a soft groan, his gaze flickering down to my mouth. But I smile and step away. “I have things to do, sir,” 

“Wicked thing,” He says as I giggle and rush out of the scullery to find the dogs. They’ve already eaten their own breakfast, so I take them out and watch their white shapes bound and leap across the lush grounds. But, with all things, I can tell that summer is ending. 

Later that evening, Lucio summons me into his study. It’s only six-thirty, so I dawdle around for the remaining half hour until my aforementioned end-of-the-work-day. He summons me twice more over those thirty minutes, but I don’t give him any satisfaction. With five minutes to spare, I head to his study. The door is open, so I wait out of sight from anyone inside (which I’m positive is just Lucio) until the grandfather clock that’s somewhere in the building chimes in the hour. At the last stroke, I step into the doorway.

He’s sitting in one of the elegant chairs, impatiently drumming his fingers on it’s leather armrest. Mercedes and Melchior nap at his feet, having been released from my care an hour ago. There’s a fire gently blazing in the hearth, the flames reflecting off of Lucio’s pale features. I take a moment to appreciate him in his unstudied state, where he exists without knowing that any one is examining him.

“You wished to see me?” I ask finally, and his head snaps to me. Before I can comprehend his movement, he’s led me into the room and pressed me against the now closed door. His hands are on either side of my head, the sharp metal points of the fingers on his left hand making a faint clicking noise against the wood as he taps them against the door. 

“You’re late,” He breathes, and I roll my eyes. 

“You’re impatient,” And at that, he kisses me hungrily. His enthusiasm in the physicality aspect of a relationship certainly takes some getting used to, but it’s not an unwelcome enthusiasm on any front. I return the favor with equal ferocity, but part from him after a few moments have passed. “Is that all you wanted to see me for?” I ask. 

“No,” He says, leaning in again. When we finally separate, he looks me in the eye, cupping my cheek with his human hand. I lean into the touch. “We’re going into town tomorrow.” 

“Why?” I murmur, not fully comprehending him. 

“Our wedding is in two weeks, we need to get things,” He says, awfully vaguely. I peer up at him. 

“I don’t want a big celebration. Just something small, you and me and whoever is marrying us. That’s all I need.” He pouts for a moment, but after thinking over it, seems to come around to the idea. 

“Deal, but you’ll let me pick out the dress,” 

“How about I let you pick a few options, but I have veto power,” 

He huffs, but agrees when I press my lips to his again.

****

The woods are quiet as we walk through them. He had offered to bring out a coach or even horses, but I stopped him. I enjoy walking through the wood and being with Lucio, and I don’t want to shorten that length of time. He had argued that we’ll have the rest of our lives together, but I disagreed and refused to allow him to get a carriage. I think he was secretly disappointed, that he really didn’t want to walk all the way to town, even though it's not that far. 

The sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees above us creates a beautiful dappling effect on the road, shades of green and yellow coloring the world around us. We walk, our arms linked together, Mercedes and Melchior bounding ahead of us. They stop, occasionally, to look back and make sure we’re still following. Animals aren’t normally allowed in the shops in town, but Lucio’s standing in society gives him free reign to do as he pleases. It’s one of those things that once you notice it, it’s hard to ignore it. Lucio certainly does walk around like there are no rules or laws that can prevent him from doing what he wants. It can be endearing or annoying, depending on what exactly it is he wants. 

Town, despite it being a weekday, seems to beam with life. Apprentices running from shop to shop, customers debating where to head to next, and the occasional beggar just looking for a scrap of food or water. The first beggar we come across shies away from Lucio, and I’m tempted to stop and offer her some of the change from my purse, but Lucio pulls me along and away from her. She doesn’t seem surprised, but the cold look in her eye that follows Lucio and myself chills me. 

We continue straight past the clothing store I had purchased my few items from earlier in the summer and towards a tangibly more elegant boutique. Despite the small size of the town, this shop displays gorgeous and intricate ball gowns and suits. I turn to Lucio as we walk in. 

“Nothing extravagant, you know this,” 

His lip quirks, but he keeps his eyes focused on the shop clerk, who has jumped up at Lucio’s entrance. “Do I?” 

And thus begins the torture of shopping with a man who doesn’t know how to stop. Two assistants follow him as he walks through the store, quickly picking dresses off of racks and throwing them into the assistants arms. I quickly move to the opposite side of the store, combing through the dresses methodically, running my hands over the embroidery and beading of some of the more extravagant gowns. None of the dresses really stick out to me, but I start to pull things that I could see myself possibly wearing. Simple fabrics with simple cuts. 

It takes a while for Lucio to be ready for me to begin to try on, and the stacks of options in the assistants arms makes me wonder if I should have specified what “a few” dresses was. When I head into the small dressing room, I quickly filter through a few of the more… aggressive options, not even bothering to try them on. But there are some dresses where Lucio actually seemed to take a moment and think about it. That doesn’t mean that they necessarily look good on my person or that I would want to wear them, but I try them all on and step out to show him. He’s not afraid of being honest, which I suppose is better for the decision making process than hearing that every dress is “beautiful” and “stunning”. 

We’re nearing the bottom of the barrel for dresses, and all of the ones I’ve picked out thus far have been rejected. There’s a few that we both were unsure of, but I don’t want indecisiveness for this. It needs to be something I love as soon as I see myself in it. The assistant hands me one of the last dresses, and I sigh and turn to try it on.

I look at myself in the mirror and feel my heart begin to race. It was one of the dresses Lucio picked out, but it was unlike the others he had shoved into the assistants’ arms. It almost seemed like an accident, that maybe he hadn’t really meant for this one to end in the pile, it was so out of place amongst the other glittery and ostentatious dresses. The dress is simple and yet beautiful. It’s floor length, with barely any train, and only a few layers of flowing fabrics for the skirt. It ripples and moves in the light, bringing out the faintest bit of sparkles that are hidden within the fabric. The bodice isn’t tight or restrictive, stopping at the neckline which is just straight across my shoulders, leaving them bare. 

I sway right to left, watching the fabric swish around me, the fabric surprisingly cool and slippery despite the layers. I can feel it, that this is it. This is the dress.

**** 

We arrive back to Tawnwild just as the sun is setting, Mercedes and Melchior now walking slightly behind us, tired out from the day of excitement. Lucio ordered the dress, which still makes me embarrassed, and paid extra to have it ready by the wedding. But there’s been something that’s been bothering me, ever since we set the date for the wedding. 

“Why are we rushing this?” I ask as we enter the building, waiting for Lucio to shrug off and hand his cape to the doorman. He hums an inquisitive tone. “I mean, why are we getting married in two weeks when I’m sure we could stand to wait a little longer?” 

“Why, do you not want to be my wife as soon as possible?” He asks. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten married on the same day befo-” He stops himself, looking over at me. 

A beat of silence passes between us. “You’ve been married before?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He says quickly, before launching us into a mundane conversation about the new house plant in the corner that has, in actuality, been there the entire time I’ve been living here. But I don’t push it. I’ll let him have his secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for reading, extra thanks to those who have left comments/kudos/etc! I'm hoping to get the last three ( :( ) chapters out before the end of June (which does seem quite far away still haha) but we'll see how that goes. I promise next chapter is going to be infinitely more interesting than this slightly-filler chapter (which will hopefully be out sometime in the next two weeks because I'm finally done with school for the year!!)
> 
> I'm not a big fan of describing clothes because it always feels like it just stops the story for a minute for the narration to catch up with what the character is seeing, but I had a clear vision for Elowen's wedding dress and as a costume design student I couldn't not let you all have at least a rough idea of what I was picturing.
> 
> my tumblr: @summercourtship


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of that aforementioned non-canonical worldbuilding in this chapter

_“Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me,” -Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë_

The rain patters against my window, sounding like pebbles being thrown from the sky above. And though it downpours, it’s surprisingly quiet inside. I’m curled up in my chair, staring at the dress. The dress that I will wear tomorrow. The dress where I will become Lucio’s (and he, consequently, becomes mine). I’m surprised Lucio hadn’t gone behind my back and changed the order to make the dress more dramatic, but it arrived exactly as I had requested. With the exception of the headpiece for the veil, which is adorned with gorgeous red and white gems, glittering like stars and planets in the candlelight, the entire ensemble is fairly basic. A simple gown for a simple girl at a simple wedding. Lucio, really, is the outlier in the situation. I smile to myself, which I seem to be doing a lot lately. 

My door is ajar, and I’m waiting for the Count to return from a last minute trip into town. He’s been gone all day, and while we’ve done our best to stick to my “nothing romantic before I’m finished work” rule, his absence still weighs on my mind. Especially so close to our wedding, I want to be with him all I can. As if summoned by my thoughts, I hear the familiar step of high heeled boots approach my room. I was hoping to have heard him approach the house, but the horse’s hooves must have been drowned out in the rain. I rise from my seat and to the door, where I meet Lucio. His hair is dripping, but his clothes were protected from the downpour by his riding cloak. He leans down and gives me a quick kiss, before pulling back and holding out his arm. We walk together to one of the lesser used parlours on the second floor. 

The fire is just starting in the hearth, and it’s clear that Lucio had sent someone up to light it as he arrived back to the estate. Aside from the light from the fireplace, there are not candles or lanterns lit, casting shadows on Lucio’s face as he sits on the loveseat, pulling me down onto his lap. I don’t fight it- I’m quite comfortable there, and I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning for another kiss. I pause to examine his face closely. His eyelashes have begun to stick together from their time in the rain, and his cheeks are flushed and pink. There’s a light spattering of freckles just under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose, so faint I think I’m imagining it at first. I trace their path with a featherlight fingertip, causing him to flutter his eyes shut, exhaling softly. And then I capture his mouth with my own. It’s a slow kiss, as we take our time, not rushed like when we first stood under that willow tree two weeks ago. 

Two weeks ago feels like both a second and an eternity in my mind. My emotions and situation in life have changed so drastically it's hard to imagine that it was not that long ago when I was planning on leaving without a second thought, thinking the man I caress now didn’t care for me. We lay in a half reclined position, my head on his shoulder, just taking our time and breathing together, softly, slowly. 

“You can stay here, when we’re married.” He says, breaking the silence that was only filled before with the crackling of the fireplace. I peer up at him and furrow my brows, and he understands my unspoken question. Where is this coming from, why bring this up now? “The palace, the city, would break you, you’re much too delicate for that kind of life.”

“I’m not delicate,” I snark, and he laughs, his human hand rubbing circles on my back, the metal one resting on the side of my thigh, the thin points of his fingers like pin pricks on my skin, only buffered by my skirt.

“Alright, but I don’t think you’d enjoy being a Countess.” I pause and mull it over. He’s not wrong, surprisingly. I don’t fancy living in the city much, because even though I grew up regularly visiting the town I grew up around, the size of the town center was barely even two blocks of Vesuvia. And yet, something about Lucio’s statement bothers me, but I cannot bring myself to examine why what he says bothers me.

We don’t speak for the rest of the time we spend together, just sitting and enjoying one another’s company, breathing as one and listening to the wind and rain outside while we stay warm inside.

****

The building is cold. The rain has brought in a chill that causes goosebumps to cover my exposed skin, and the airy room doesn’t help my situation. I try not to shiver. 

The ceremony is, as I had requested, small. There’s only the man who will be marrying the two of us, Lucio, and myself in the ritualistic building. While there are religious weddings, most are held in temples, like this one, without a specific sect or religion they belong to. And while neither Lucio or I are religious, it was the only place that was close and discreet enough to marry us when we wanted. 

We stand in front of an altar, while the priest begins the customary ceremonial speech, which I half listen to, interested in the cultural differences here than of the culture I grew up in, but the other half of me is too excited to really pay that much attention to his words. But as the priest continues talking and Lucio begins to make gestures with his hands, indicating the man to hurry up, I can’t help but feel that something is wrong here. The knots in my stomach are transforming from excited butterflies to uneasy churning, and I keep looking at Lucio out of the corner of my eye. He looks stoic, not at all fitting the mood of the day. 

We’re barely into the ceremony when the words that cause my heart to skip a beat are spoken.

“If there is anyone who has a reason to object to this union, let them come forward now,” He says, and my stomach flutters, and I am the most uneasy I’ve been this entire time. The room is silent. He opens his mouth to continue when the wooden door slams against the wall, an echoing shot in the quiet temple. 

Lucio tenses beside me as I spin around and take in the regal figure taking up the doorway. She’s tall, with dark skin and magenta hair, and cool eyes. She begins walking down towards us, not taking her narrowed eyes off of Lucio.

“I, Nadia Satrinava, Countess of Vesuvia, object to this union between this girl and my husband,” 

Icy shock sets in, and my mind doesn’t- can’t- process the words. Her… husband. _Her_ husband. Her _husband._ And then, I look at Lucio, wanting answers or an indication that this is false, but his face is impassively cold, the only confirmation I need to see. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but I can’t find the will to speak. I can’t find the will to _breathe_. So instead, I drop my bouquet onto the cold stone floor and walk out of the temple, past Lucio and past Nadia. She looks at me as I pass, and the cold look in her eyes has transformed to pity. She didn’t know, I can see her realize. I don’t care for her pity. 

As soon as I’m out of the temple, and the cool morning air is in my lungs, a shaky breath escapes me. Followed by another and another and another until I’m sobbing, back pressed against the stone wall of the building where I was supposed to be happiest. I can hear Lucio and Nadia arguing inside, their voices clear and echoing. It’s like listening through a paper tube, the words distorted and distant. I can’t tell if it’s because of the temple’s natural acoustics or the fact that my heart sounds like it’s trying to escape through my ears. Pushing myself off the wall, I begin to walk back to Tawnwild. 

The forest is quiet during my walk, but I don’t take my time to enjoy the nature. How could I? I don’t want to bother to process my emotions yet, instead letting my tears fall freely, clouding my vision. Most of all, I don’t want Lucio and Nadia to begin their own trek back and catch up to me. I have no idea what I would do if I had to be in either of their presence right now, but especially Lucio’s. 

Once I’m back in the place that, once my home, now feels foreboding and full of shadows, I head straight to my room, ignoring the servants’ cut off congratulations. Tears blur my vision and I slam my bedroom door behind me, falling back against it. I tear the headpiece out of my hair, and the silvery veil follows. I stare at it in my hands, and crumple it in my fists, throwing it onto the ground. My sobs quickly return, and I begin to claw at the lacings on my back, wanting this dress off. Once I’m in my undergarments, I sink onto the bed, hunched over and letting the sobbing rack my body. With a gesture of my hand, the lock on my door slides into place with a quiet click. I want to be alone. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt truly alone in this place since my first night that I arrived in Vesuvia, not knowing any one. The walls here seem to teem with life, and there are more times than not that I feel eyes on my back, watching.

I sit on the bed, and every time I think my tears subside, they regenerate with a vengeance, until I have no more tears and my body shakes with dry, hacking sobs, rubbing my throat raw with their force. And yet I cannot stop. I stare at the veil, laying on the floor, and barely resist the urge to take it in my hands and rip it to shreds. But I cannot- some unseeable force is keeping me from ruining Lucio’s gift to me, the bejeweled headpiece glinting in my eyes from the tears in my vision. 

I don’t know how long Nadia and Lucio argue for, but I can feel the energy in Tawnwild shift when they enter the grounds, and a quick look out of my bedroom window confirms this. I fall back onto the bed, glancing at the door to make sure it is still locked, that nothing’s changed. And I wait. It’s not long before I hear the creak of the floorboard outside my door, and I know he’s standing there. He hesitates. And then, a gentle knock. 

“Elowen?” He says, and he sounds like he’s pressed against the door, maybe an inch of space. I quietly rise, keeping sure to not make any noise as I tiptoe to the door and press my hand against it. My heart longs to be with Lucio, to feel his arms wrapped around me, but I know I cannot. Maybe I’m simply imagining it, but I can feel his warmth through the door. “I know you’re upset and confused, but if you’ll just let me explain,” He says, and I’m almost tempted to unlock the door and face him. But I’m afraid of what I might do if I open it. Afraid I might hurt him or hurt myself. 

He tries the handle, and the lock holds. He scoffs. “I could break down this door, you know,” I know. I stay by the door, knowing he’s just inches away from me, but refusing to allow myself to see him. I almost want him to break down the door, force me to see him, look at him with my tear soaked eyes. “Please,” He says after a few moments of uneasy silence, his voice soft. We stay like that, in silence, for a while, until I hear him sigh and walk away, the dull thud of his boots echoing my heartbeat. 

****

I wait in the study. It’s been a few hours since the ruined wedding, my tears have finally stopped, and I need answers. I’m back in my normal day-wear, purposefully having chosen my more conservative clothing options. A high necked button up blouse tucked into a black skirt, but my hair remains in the style it was in for the ceremony. I’m sure my makeup must have rubbed off during my crying sessions, or at least my eye makeup. Perhaps it rings my eyes like a darkened bruise. My desire to see Lucio is here and there- every moment brings a new emotion with it. He betrayed me but he loves me but he lied to me but he loves me but how do I know if he really loves me if he was able to pull such a cruel trick- 

My thoughts are interrupted by the man I both want to never see again and never let go of. I start to walk towards him before I stop myself, too angry to continue. I may be done crying, but I’m still royally pissed off at Lucio. More than that, I feel used and betrayed by the one person who I thought actually, truly, cared for me.

“I ready for an explanation.” I say, holding back the bitterness from my tone. He, instead of launching into the explanation I want, moves to sit in one of the arm chairs by the cold fireplace. He gestures at the chair opposite him, which I slowly move to sit in. He takes a few moments to gather his thoughts.

“The marriage laws of Vesuvia have always been rather… complicated.” He starts, gaze lost in the black ashes of the hearth. “Not necessarily for the common people, but when it comes to marriage between classes or status, the laws become practically overbearing, no freedom or wiggle room for the nobility. Since the title of Count and Countess have never been strictly hereditary, they needed a way to protect the power. And there was a time where the idea of marrying only for power was reprehensible, at least socially,” He takes a breath, and I can tell he just want to get this over with, the formal way he has to present the law to make it understandable for me causing any emotions he, himself, feels to be restrained and virtually invisible to me. “So, the lawmakers decided to do their job for once and draft a law that would try and prevent people from marrying and divorcing others for power. The law,” and he sighs here, still not looking at me, and I suspect this is the rub of the situation, “The law states that, in a marriage where a title is bestowed upon any members of the matrimony, if there is want for divorce, the person who files the divorce must abdicate all power and title previously held,” He finally raises his eyes to mine. “But, my dear Elowen, there are no laws against being married to multiple people. All it requires would be consent from all parties involved, which I admit, I did not try to get. Was it a lapse in judgement on my part? Yes. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He reaches over and places his warm hand onto my own, clasped in my lap. 

“But you did nevertheless,” I say, removing my hands from under his. “And if I’m understanding you correctly, you would rather keep all power you hold and be in an unhappy marriage then be with me, legally,” 

“You have to understa-”

I stand. “What? What do I have to understand, Lucio?” He takes a moment, gathering his thoughts, clearly rethinking through what he was about to say. 

“We can still be together,” He says, and I blink in shock. He has no explanation, I realize. He just did it, and instead of dealing with the consequences, he would rather avoid the problem. But I cannot let him avoid it, not when it’s my own heart and his reputation at stake in the situation. I have no idea what his aforementioned reputation may look like in the eyes of the city, but if I can gather anything from what I know about him, this would only make him seem more reckless and self-serving than before. 

“No. I will not… You are asking me to be your mistress? I love you, Lucio, but I cannot do that.”

“Why not?” 

I’m silent for a moment, trying to restrain myself from raising my voice. “Because you are already spoken for, even if there is no love there. And I do not wish to only be known as your mistress! I want to be my own person, and I would want to have you there by my side, but that is not possible now.”

“I could keep you here, in the country, you wouldn’t even be known to the public of Vesuvia,” 

“But I don’t want to be a thing, kept by you, locked away where you can access me but only when I’m needed, that’s the problem! I’m not your property, Lucio. I’m sorry,” With that, I turn and leave the room, my mind reeling. 

I’m up the stairs and heading back to my room, trying to avoid having my eyes fill up with tears again, when Nadia steps out from one of the more lavish guest rooms. I stop. She looks at me, before making a gesture into her room. 

“Please,” She says, and, after a moment of consideration, I walk past her through the open door. The room is really a suite, with the parlor being what I walked into. It’s furnished a bit differently than the rest of the house, and I figure that this is where Nadia always rooms when she stays here. The walls are papered in a gorgeous purple and white patterned wallpaper, with the occasional gold foil accent along the ceiling and baseboards. Small crystal chandeliers hang glittering from the ceiling, casting fractured bits of light throughout the room. Sunlight streams in through the open windows, silky curtains rustling in the breeze. The room is furnished with a few chaises and a sofa or two, with cabinets and tables lining the walls where there aren’t doors or windows. 

“Tea?” She asks as she moves to sit on one of the chaises, and I nod. 

“You know, I never liked this place. Too dark for me.” She says, pouring my cup. I disagree with her statement in my mind, but luckily show a bit of self-preservation and don’t dare contradict her. She makes me nervous, nervous of the power she holds over me and the knowledge that she must think the worst of me. She hands the tea across the table to me, and I add my sugar and cream with a shaking hand, barely avoiding flinging the sugar across the room. I do manage to get some on my skirt, however, the white flakes stark against the black fabric. She watches me, and we sit in a silence for a few moments.

“I’m… sorry.” I say, unable to stop myself. It’s awkward and stilted. She puts her teacup down, seemingly almost in surprise. “I swear, Countess, I didn’t know and I would never have-” She holds up an elegant hand, effectively silencing me. My mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“It’s not your fault. I can tell you aren’t from around here, and though it is perhaps naive of you, it’s not necessarily unbelievable,” She says. I’m not quite comforted by her words, but I also am relieved that she doesn’t quite blame me. “If anything, Lucio is to blame here,” But those words, the ones accusing the man I love of things I’m fully aware he knowingly committed, make me uneasy, for some reason. My mind cannot comprehend placing the blame fully on him, but I know that there is no way to believe that there was a misunderstanding of some sort. “Mind you,” She continues on, noticing my hesitation, “it’s not like there is any particular affection between the two of us. It was a rushed wedding and now… we’re stuck together for political reasons and our pride. Neither of us wants to admit that it's a failed marriage, and be the one to break it off, thus giving up our power.” She looks into space, pensive. 

“Yes, he explained that to me,” I say, finally. She nods again, still lost in her thoughts. We’re silent for a few minutes, drinking tea. Her presence, while at first intimidating, has slowly faded into a calming energy, and I can feel my heart rate slowing, and my eyelids feel heavy. I can’t see her and Lucio having any love in their relationship, especially not on her side. It’s a silver lining in an otherwise horrible day, knowing that Lucio probably did truly love me. I’m still lost in my thoughts when she finally speaks up again.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do now?” She asks. Now? What- oh. After this shithole of a day is over. 

I falter. No. No I don’t. It’s like two weeks ago all over again, stressing about leaving. But now I know that Lucio loves me and I still can’t be with him, despite it all. I’m not sure which is worse, thinking he was using me or knowing he cares for me, but the outcome is the same either way. All that changes is how I feel looking back on my life here. Which needs to come to an end, and I need to be the one to call it. 

“I need to leave,” I say, surprising myself with the finality of my answer. “I love him, Countess, but I cannot stay.” I turn my face to hide the sudden tears that prick my eyes. “I do not know where I will go, perhaps back home, but the longer I stay here, the more likely I am to forget who I am. What I stand for. I could continue my life here as his mistress, but that is not the life I envisioned for myself, and it's certainly not one I could live happily in,” I say, finally looking back at her. She has, what I’m sure is an interesting face to read, if you can. But I find myself struggling to identify the emotion playing in her eyes. I don’t think it’s anger, or jealousy. Is it more pity? Empathy? Reluctance? 

She finally puts her saucer onto the table, being careful not to let the tea spill over one side as she places it. “If you ever happen to return to the city of Vesuvia, and are in need of assistance, there is a place that I think might be best for a person like you. You met Asra a few weeks ago, correct?” 

I nod, deja vu washing over me from Julian’s and my conversation a few weeks back, where he offered the same thing to me. And I know where I must go when I leave tonight, all signs are pointing me to return to the city and seek out Asra. At least until I can get back to my feet. 

****

I stare at myself in the vanity mirror, a sick imitation of my behavior after Lucio proposed to me under the now destroyed willow tree two weeks ago. My face is tired and dark, instead of the bright and glowing look I should have had, had everything gone according to plan. A plan that was doomed to fail from the beginning, from the moment the idea popped into Lucio’s head he should have realized that something was wrong. I can’t help but wonder what I would have done, had I known the truth from the beginning. Would I still have gone along with it, or would I have been more easily swayed to become, in Valerius’s words, his plaything? Would he have even bothered with a wedding charade, or would he have just offered to make me his mistress from the beginning? I fear for the part of me that knows that, if I knew everything I know now, I might have accepted his offer and let him love me without restraint. But I had been so determined to do this right, to make the correct decisions in life, that I hadn’t even bothered to learn _anything_ about Lucio. And that had been my downfall, hadn’t it?

A similar knock to the one earlier at my door. I look over at the closed door, knowing who stands behind it. And now that my feelings of anger and betrayal have faded into a quiet resignation, I allow myself to do what I couldn’t before. I quickly pull on my shawl over my naked shoulders and I flick my hand and the door swings open. There Lucio stands, looking more frazzled then when I had left him earlier. He steps into the room, and looks at me. I’m in my underclothing, which I suppose is still more than what some people here wear. But I feel almost naked, especially under his sharp gaze. I know what he’s here for, and I am more than willing to give it, before I intend to never see him again. I cannot, and do not want to, say no to him anymore. 

“Yes, sir?” I say, soft. He says nothing, but comes closer to me, putting his hands on my now covered shoulders. I shudder at the touch, stopping myself from leaning back into him. He slides the silk shawl off my shoulders and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. I sigh and turn in my chair to look at him, kneeling by my side now. I lean forward and press a light kiss to his lips, which he rather quickly deepens into a desperate struggle. 

He groans into my mouth, his hand coming up to my hair, which was still up from earlier this morning. I pull back and reach up to unpin it, placing the hair pins on the vanity at my side. He, impatiently, kisses the knuckles of the hand that isn’t currently in my hair. I finish with the pins, and my long hair now falls down. I realize that this is one of the first times he’s seen me with my hair down, and he surges forward again to kiss me, his metal hand now tangling itself into my hair. It scratches at my scalp, and I find myself holding back a whine at the sensation. 

He parts from me and lifts my chin to look him in the eyes. My heart is racing and I can feel my hands shake, with the nerves and electricity I can feel in my fingers and toes. I feel the most awake- the most alive- I have since Nadia revealed the truth, and I can’t bring myself to care that I’m in love with a married man. He certainly doesn’t care as he quickly undoes my corset, still on from the ruined wedding. I watch him look at me for the first time, before wrapping his arms around me and lifting me off the seat. My legs instinctively wrap around his still clothed body, and I make getting him out of his own garments my top priority. As soon as he gently tosses me on the bed, I spring back up and begin to tackle his clothes. He chuckles, and moves to help me, but I swat his hands away. 

“Let me do this for you,” I say, placing my hand on his now uncovered chest. His heart is beating almost as fast as mine, and I look back up at him. When our eyes meet again, he brings his hand to my cheek and I lean into the warmth of his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. 

When he asks me to lay back, I obey. When I ask him to go faster, he complies, a smirk gracing his face. And as he whispers into my mouth, frantic, how much he loves me, I whisper back equal devotions into the crook of his neck, pressing kisses and drawing blood all the same. 

But I know, no matter how much he begs me to, I cannot stay in the morning. At the first ray of dawn, I quietly disentangle myself from his grip. He shifts, but doesn’t wake up. I cannot bring myself to look at him for more than a moment, scared that the gentleness I might see in his sleep will make me forget the harshness of his character. That if I look at him, I’ll remember how much I love him, and convince myself to stay. 

I’m pack my things quickly, only grabbing the few clothing items I had originally brought with me. Lucio proves to be a heavy sleeper, but I pause at even the slightest movement. If he wakes up, I won’t be able to explain myself. If he looked at me in the eyes and asked me what I was doing, I would have no answer. I would return to his side and allow him to continue his worship of my body. 

But he does deserve some answer to my disappearance, for I cannot bear to imagine him waking alone and searching for me throughout the estate, only to find it as if I had never set foot over the threshold. I find the note, tucked away in my vanity drawer, from when he gifted me the red dress, which still hangs in the armoire from when I took it off, now hanging next to the abandoned wedding dress. The back of the note is bare, and I take a minute to write out a short letter. It’s cold and detached, but I cannot allow myself to put excessive emotion into it. I cannot feel.

Before I leave my room, I hazard a glance in Lucio’s direction. He sleeps still, but I notice his hand searching for something. The warmth left from my body must be fading, and if he doesn’t find myself in his sleep, he will wake soon. I grab my satchel and exit the room, forbidding myself to linger.

The morning is surprisingly cool, mist hanging low over the hills. I’ve just passed the stretch of road where I first met Lucio when there’s an indistinct shout in the distance. Perhaps it could have been my name. I don’t allow myself to look back, and continue walking away from Tawnwild and Lucio, feeling my heart mend and re-break itself with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw


	12. Chapter 12

_“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” ― Emily Brontë_

When I was a child, my mother would often cradle me in her arms when it stormed. The storms of Orpheia are terrifying, the freezing rain and thunder putting even the strongest men on edge. Mother would place my head in her lap, and pet my hair, humming an old lullaby. I’ve forgotten the tune now.

“It cannot hurt you, love,” She would say. 

I wish my mother was with me now. 

I’m blinking in and out of consciousness, unsure of what is a dream and what is reality. 

Gnats bite at my skin, and sweat makes my clothing stick to my skin. My clothing that isn’t made for this weather, causing me to overheat. I’m anxiously checking over my shoulder, my heart beat sounding like hoofbeats, pounding at the road. Coming for me. 

But he wouldn’t. I know he won’t search for me. I know he would search for me. What do I know? Not enough. Never enough.

I blink.

My father, standing with me in the clearing in the forest, twittering with birds and the hum of insects. I clutch the dagger in my shaking hands. I don’t want to fight, to learn how to do this. 

“I’ll never need this,” I argue, but my father simply shakes his head. 

“You never know,” He would say. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,”

“Sometimes you have to, to protect yourself,” He says in return, kicking my feet apart into a fighting stance. My heart hammers against my chest, afraid of seeming weak but unsure if I have the ability to even pretend to have it in me to maim, to kill.

I blink. 

The gravel road hurts my feet, but I cannot stop walking. I need to get to the city. I don’t know how far away the city is, if I’m even on the right track. 

I keep pressing on, ignoring my bleeding feet, the shoes I wear not made for this. My stomach is eating itself, and my vision is spotty, white clouds obscuring the green of the trees around me. I hear my name, but the wind eats it up. Or maybe it was the wind in the first place. 

I blink. 

I’m in the woods, walking somewhere. Anywhere? No. I’m walking to town, I remember. It’s cool, at least in the shade of the trees. I hold a letter, addressed to my family. 

My heart beat is sounding like hoofbeats again, and it takes me a moment to realize that’s what they are.

Hoof beats. 

Before I know it, the horse is in sight and rears back when it sees me. The rider falls off, a loud thud when he finally hits the ground after struggling with his foot that was caught in the stirrup. The sight of him on his back stirs something in me, worry and melancholy intertwined in a sick embrace. Why do I care for this stranger? But before I can even get close to him, his silver eyes blink towards me. My breath catches in my throat. 

“Why did you leave me?” He asks, voice echoing around the woods. He sounds angry and calm, depressed and relieved. His voice is close to my ears, almost inside my head, and far away, a whispered shout against the wind. I shake my head at him, confused. I don’t know him, do I? 

He manages to stand, no longer injured. The woods shift around us in the blink of an eye, and it’s suddenly twilight under a willow tree, cleaved in half. He’s closer now, and my cheek is cupped in the palm of his human hand, the metal one clutching the small of my back. I stare up at him, close to him in an embrace as the wind whips my hair around us. 

“I cannot live without my soul,” He whispers against my lips, before capturing them in a biting kiss. His mouth comes back bloody, and I cannot figure who drew the blood from the other.

****

The first thing I’m really, truly conscious of is that I’m in a bed. It’s not a comfortable one, like what I’ve grown used to over the past few weeks, but rather a hard bed with scratchy sheets, like the ones I slept in back home. The second thing I realize is that my throat aches and my tongue is bone dry. And, as I try to sit up and find my head weighs a lot less than it used to, my once long hair has been cut to just below my chin. 

There’s a woman beside my bed, and though she had been napping before, at my sudden movement she wakes and immediately begins to push me back down. She has a gentle face, and soft hands which she uses to brush back my hair from my forehead. Her own hair is a pale blonde, tied back with a pastel blue ribbon. Her mouth is downturned, making her expression seem more severe than it actually is. 

“Are you thirsty?” She asks. I nod, desperate to get rid of the sandpaper feeling I get when I try to swallow. She quickly moves to the stone basin against the far wall and pours me at cup of water, which I eagerly gulp down. I choke a bit, coughing at the speed in which I drank the water. She refills it and I drink three more cup fulls before I’m ready to try and speak again. 

“Where am I?” I ask, my voice gravelly. The last thing I remember is struggling through the woods, my feet aching and my stomach growling. Perhaps, I think, I had been too hasty in my retreat and hadn’t given the realities of my situation enough consideration. 

“Havington,” The woman says, and after registering that I didn’t comprehend where that was, she sighs. “A small fishing village outside of Vesuvia?” I nod at that, and she begins to feel my forehead. “We found you passed out along the main road a few days ago. You were in and out of consciousness, probably too exhausted to remember any of that,” She seems content with her findings. “You don’t seem to be feverish anymore, but I think it would benefit you to stay here for a few more days before we try to get you where you’re going,” She’s about to leave before turning back, “Where _are_ you going?” 

“Just to the city,” I say, my voice slowly but surely coming back to me. She nods, biting her lips before finally asking her final question.

“One more thing,” She says, lingering at the door. “Your name? We weren’t able to find any identification on you, except for the initial on your satchel.” I don’t like the idea of these strangers going through my things, but I remind myself that they saved my life, so perhaps I can deal with it. I open my mouth to give it, but pause. Lucio cannot find me. My name, being as uncommon as it is here, would surely stir something and could get back to him, wherever he is now. 

“Edith,” I say simply, the first name that comes to mind. It’s a pretty common name in Orpheia, and I had quite a few acquaintances that shared that name. She nods. 

“I’m Charlotte,” And with that she leaves. I fall back onto my pillow, but before I can start to doze off again, another woman enters with a bowl of steaming broth, smelling of warmth I haven’t tasted since I left home. Her coiled black hair rests on top of her head, and her amber eyes are warm and welcoming. She wears a gauzy white dress, which seems impossibly bright against her dark skin, cinched at the waist with a brown leather strip tied into a knot. She puts the bowl down on the table next to the bed, sitting down where Charlotte had been just moments before. 

“Hello there, I’m Mina!” She says, and her energy is so vastly different from Charlotte that it takes me a second to get used to a bubbly personality again. The many bracelets she wears clink against each other as she moves her hands wildly while she speaks. I smile back, though not quite able to meet her enthusiasm. There’s a throbbing in my head, causing black spots to occasionally dance across my vision when I try to lift my head for more than a few seconds. “I brought this for you,” She holds up the broth. “There aren’t any noodles or anything, but this will help to get you up and running before we help you get back to where you’re going! I would be perfectly happy to have you stay for a while, but Charlotte likes to keep things pretty stagnant down here,” I reach for the broth, listening to her chatter on about her and Charlotte’s lives here. They live alone, with the exception of their gorgeous black cat, called Ophelia. Mina helps to transport the fish to the markets in Vesuvia, driving the carriage to the vendors who will distribute it once in the city. Once I’m ready to go, she tells me, I’m free to either continue walking to the city, as it’s just short of a day’s walk, or she’d gladly let me ride along with her when they take the fish into the city. But it’s clear from the way she says it, she wants me to ride into the city.

Once Mina leaves, I lose myself in my thoughts, as I had been on the verge of doing the entire time I’ve been spoken to today. There’s still so much going on in my mind, confusing and contradicting thoughts and feelings that I don’t know how to begin to sort through. Should I even bother returning to stay in Vesuvia, or should I take the safe route and return home, as penniless and pathetic as when I left, if not more so? If I stayed in Vesuvia, would Lucio try to find me when he returned? Or worse, what if he didn’t? What if he didn’t bother, didn’t care that I was gone? 

These thoughts swirl around in my head until I fall back asleep later that night, still confined to my bed. When I awake the next morning, I gingerly step out into the main room of the house. It’s a combination of a living space, kitchen, and dining area. Something is baking in the tiny oven, which is in the corner along with other kitchen items. Sounds drift in from the open window, children laughing and men talking, with the buzz of bees and chirping of birds softly creating a soundscape of the world outside. The wooden floor creaks under my foot, bare of any socks or stockings. I run a hand through my now-short hair, still unused to the absence of weight on my head. It curls up at the end, and I shake through it with my fingers, loosening up any knots. 

Charlotte looks over from the table, where I hadn’t noticed her sitting before. She had been writing in a notebook, which she closes with a soft click and rises. She bites her lips before nodding a greeting at me, moving to check on the oven. 

“How are you feeling?” She asks, her clinical tone breaking the silence that’s settled between us in the room. 

“Better, much better,” I say, smiling at her. She returns the smile, turning back to the bread. “May I ask what it is that you do? I know Mina drives the fish cart, what do you do?” 

She takes a moment, pulling the bread out of the oven and placing it on the stovetop, before looking back at me. “I help treat the townsfolk medicinally,” 

“Are you a witch?” I ask, before biting my tongue. I’ve grown used to being around Lucio, and not needing to really watch what I say. Luckily, she doesn’t take offence. 

“Some might say that. I prefer the term ‘healer’, but magic does have its uses, although I confess I’m not too talented in the actual craft,” She smiles at me, and I’m hit with gratitude that she was the one who found me, or at least was the one to take care of me. I shudder to think of the other possibilities that could have occured. “Now, I need to ask you something. Do you remember why you were passed out alongside the road, why you were so unprepared for the journey you were taking?” 

I’m torn. I can lie to her, protect myself, but that may delay her from being able to let me return to the outside world. But if I tell her the truth, that’s one more person who knows who I am and the significance I may have, if Lucio turns out to care about my whereabouts. So I decide on a half truth.

“I don’t remember how I got to the side of the road.” Which is true- my memory cuts out a few days after I had set out from Tawnwild, only cutting back in when I woke up yesterday. It’s annoying, not being able to remember things. I don’t even know how many days I’m missing. “I think I just assumed I could make the journey with what I had.” 

She hums, clearly done with the conversation. “Mina goes into town in three days. That should be enough time for you to continue to rest and then we can take you there. Do you have somewhere to go, in the city?” I nod, and she doesn’t say anything else. 

The next three days pass both quickly and as if time itself decided to come to a stop. They don’t confine me to the bed, but do ask that I stay in the house. I wonder if they think I’ll try to run. Either way, I’m happy to comply, not keen on letting my face be known to the villagers. Most of my day is spent lost in thought, looking out the window in my temporary room. Mina tries to get me to join her and Charlotte when they sit together in the living space, chatting about their days (a conversation that’s dominated by Mina), but seeing the unabashed affection they have for one another makes my heart ache, so I try to distance myself from the two of them. 

On the day of our journey into the city, Charlotte isn’t around to see me off. Mina’s only explanation for her absence is that there’s a sick child a few houses down, and they were desperate. An odd disease, they said, unlike anything else this town has seen. An odd sense of premonition washes over me, but I don’t remark on it. I doubt Mina would put much faith in my intuition, after what I’ve come to find is a week of my memory has gone missing. 

The fish cart is loaded up and Mina jumps up onto the seat, which is luckily wide enough for two people. My satchel is once again at my side, but they’ve given me new clothes, after my old ones were either lost to the elements or damaged beyond repair. Seeing the ruined remnants of my clothing has tears pricking behind my eyes, thinking of the hard work that went into being able to afford these clothes back home. The only piece that survived is the low-cut top I ordered back while I was at Tawnwild, the clothes that Lucio was shocked I hadn’t taken up his offer of payment on. I’m homesick, suddenly, but I brush it off. I can’t go back. 

The new clothes they’ve put me in are much better suited to the environment and culture around me, thin flowing pants and a loose sleeveless top, with a shawl for modesty and warmth, if I needed. The clothes are all bright and attention grabbing, the colors that I first saw reflected back at me from every corner when I first arrived at the city all those weeks ago. Back in Orpheia, these clothes would have been scandal worthy, guaranteeing the townsfolk’s mistrust, at the very least. But in the city, these clothes will make me disappear into the crowd, where my old fashion made me stand out. 

The ride into the city takes about an hour and a half, Mina chattering away the entire time. I’ve enjoyed her company these past few days, and regret that I have to leave her and won’t get to know her more. I tell her as much when I get off of the cart at the marketplace, right before Mina jumps down after me. She’s beaming at me.

“Bye, Edith!” She hugs me, and I don’t have the heart, or lack of paranoia, to tell her my true name. It comforts me that I’m a nobody again, and that I am nothing but the strange girl they found on the side of the road to her. She jumps back onto the cart to direct it to where she has to drop her fish off, and I quickly lose sight of her in the bustling crowd. 

I’ve forgotten how busy Vesuvia is. Claustrophobia presses in on me at all sides, surrounded by people whose eyes quickly move over me, not paying any attention. I feel utterly lost, the sounds of the marketplace clouding my mind. I find a hidden alleyway, which is mostly empty, save for an old man asleep next to a barrel. The bricks of the alley are cool against my back, and I try to even out my breaths, try to calm myself down. I know that Asra’s shop is near the market, so once I’ve completely calmed myself down, I head back into the thick crowd and begin to make my way to the street. 

It takes me a little over two hours to find Asra’s shop, almost hidden away on the street. I must have walked past it once or twice, before finally seeing it. Night is falling, and lanterns begin to flicker to life around me. I miss the stars already. Shaking my head to clear my mind, I quickly rapp on the door, the knocks high pitched against the wood. The lantern is still lit, indicating the shop is open, but the door is locked. 

It takes a moment, but finally the door opens, just a crack. Asra looks at me for a moment, irritation flitting across his features, before he recognizes me. 

“Elowen?” He says, stepping back and letting me come in. I wonder what I look like to him, vastly different from the girl I was but a few weeks ago. I feel like I’ve aged five years since then. “Is Lucio back in town yet? Why aren’t you still with him?” I sigh. He doesn’t know what’s happened yet. So I sit him down and begin to, slowly, explain what's happened to me since I arrived at Tawnwild, trying to paint a full picture. I, for the sake of my own mind, have to avoid details at points, giving Asra the basic run down. 

When I’ve finished, he sighs. “I just need some place to stay, for a few months at the most. I can work for my keep-” He stops me. He will let me stay, he says, if just to help me stay under Lucio’s radar until I can figure out what I want to do. 

But those few months turn it to a half year, quickly. I keep to myself mainly, rarely leaving the house. It’s January before I know it. I miss the snow sometimes. Asra goes to the Count’s masquerade- I don’t. The idea makes me afraid of what I’d do if I saw Lucio, face to face. Not that there hasn’t been a few close calls on the rare occasion I leave the house to go into the city. But every time I’ve managed to duck away before he could catch sight of me. I wonder if he would recognize me. If he even thinks about me. 

A few months after his masquerade, the news hits the city that the Count has contracted the plague. When Asra tells me this, I don’t know what I feel. But I’m certain that he will find a way to make it through it. I almost run to the palace when I hear this, beg to see him, atone for my absence and spend however long I can with him.

But for some reason, I don’t. To run to him now would be to admit I don’t think he can make it through the disease. And I need him to survive this, to give me more time to figure out if I ever want to return to him, to see him again. 

It’s the day after the news of the Count’s illness that they summon everyone who might be able to help to the palace. To find a cure. Asra, of course, is headed out. I’m not sure why, though. He doesn’t seem to know either. 

Asra looks over at me, concern etched onto his features. I’m staring out the window, listless.   
“I don’t have to go, you know,” He says, but I’m already shaking my head. 

“No.” It’s more forceful that I intend it to be, but the anxiety that worms through my stomach is not due to his leaving. “Find the cure, even if you don’t want to save him,” We don’t say his name, ever. More of a personal rule on my part. “Do it for me, at least. Do it for the other people who will die.” 

He still looks reluctant to finally leave the shop, so I get up to physically push him out the door. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” I say. Asra looks back into the shop.

“Promise?” 

“Swear on my heart,” I make an ‘X’ in the air over my left breast, over where my heart surely beats on. I watch as Asra slowly becomes smaller in my vision, before disappearing completely in the crowds and distance. The door creaks shut behind me as I make my way back into the main room of the shop, candles barely illuminating the darkness. I pray to whatever gods may exist that they can save him, even for my sake. 

And when, a few months later, my cough turns hacking and my reflection reveals red stained eyes, I still don’t tell Asra. He’s gone again, and I’ll be dead before he returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did something: I, after much convincing from my older sister, made a Ko-Fi account. It's linked in my profile, and if you even consider giving anything it means the world to me. 
> 
> Comments, also mean the world to me and I appreciate everyone who has commented thus far and will comment/leave kudos/bookmark. It's nice to know that this is being read and actually enjoyed.
> 
> One more chapter! Let's see what happens first: Lucio's actual route, or this final chapter. Hmmmm....


	13. Chapter 13

Three years is a long time to be without human contact. Without seeing anyone, with only the dusty canvases soulless eyes staring back. Gradually, over the three years, a presence began to linger in the Count’s old wing, and with it, a connection to the outside. A red string of fate, connecting two souls together. The soul stuck between life and death was aware of this thread, and tries in vain to reach to the other end, but the other could only listen. 

****

_Elowen._

My eyes snap open. Bright light streams in through the window above me, basking the small room in the late morning glow. My hand reaches out beside me, feeling for Asra, but his side of the bed is empty. Right. He’s leaving today. Scowling at the thought, I sit up, running a hand through my short hair. Before I leave the bedroom, I pull on a pair of loose fitting pants with an equally flowing shirt, the bangles I wear on my wrists clanking together as I slip them on. Sometimes it feels like I’m putting on a costume in the morning, that the clothes I wear are an elaborate disguise. But I shrug the pending anxiety off, ignoring the faint throb of a headache. 

Headaches are common. Anxiety is common. I breathe, and ignore. 

Asra is busy manning the shop, and has just finished dealing with a customer when I walk into the main area of the shop. 

“How are you, sleepyhead?” He asks, and I roll my eyes. 

“Fine. I had the same dream again, though. Are you sure you’ve never seen a man like that, in your travels?” I ask. It’s a frequent conversation between the two of us. The man seems so familiar, the silver eyes and cool smirk leaving me confused when I wake up. The dreams actually vary, all of them hazy and involving the man. Sitting in a dark room with him, accompanying him through a thin forest, watching him as he sleeps… None of them make any sense to me. 

“As I’ve told you before, I don’t.” He seems annoyed, as he always does when I bring up my dreams. 

“I just wish I knew what it means, why I keep having the same few dreams, over and ov-” I stop, the sharp pang of a headache causing me to wince. He looks at me, sharply. “Sorry. Headache.” 

“Are you okay? Do you need some tea?” He’s about to start his mothering routine, and I cannot deal with him hovering over me. 

“No, no. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” But rather than calming him, the words seem to agitate him. 

“Just don’t think so hard, next time, alright?” He says, giving me a small smile which I weakly return. Despite my occasional grievances with Asra, he isn’t so bad all the time. A bit overprotective, but that’s what good friends and mentors are for, I suppose. 

The rest of the day leading to his departure passes uneventfully, right until he leaves. With his deck in my hands, the weight of the seventy-eight cards heavy on my heart, I watch Asra leave through the window, and only turn away when he’s either walked away far enough or finally decided to pop out of existence. I’m not quite sure how he does it, but he assures me that one day I will be able to too. A part of me wants to believe him, but I only seem to be good at a certain fiery branch of magic. Even the cards, a rather easy task, seem hesitant to speak to me. 

_Elowen._

I shut my eyes against the voice, as I have every day for the past three years. I haven’t told anyone about it, afraid that I really am just crazy and am making it up. I haven’t even told Asra, afraid he’ll just shut it out like he does my dreams. Sometimes I’m almost inclined to follow its call, if just to see what it wants. I can feel a pull, when the voice calls to me, right below my rib cage, as if a string were tied there and someone was yanking on it from the other end. The voice’s echoes cause a small headache to bloom across my forehead, like always, and I turn to head to bed. I’m snuffing out the candles when a gentle, but firm, knock startles me. 

I must have forgotten to put out the lantern, as I seem to do at least twice a week, despite Asra constantly reminding me to. I’m forgetful, is all. 

Looking out the peephole just reveals a hooded woman standing outside, only the bottom half of her face illuminated in the dark. She’s frowning. Something about it is familiar, but I cannot place it. My hand hovers over the lock, for a split second, before moving down to the door handle. Once the door is open, she steps in, her tall frame filling up the space. She removes her hood, and I’m startled by the realization of whom I am in the presence of. The Countess. 

I fumble for a moment, trying to figure out if I should bow, or curtsey, perhaps, when she holds up an elegant, ring-adorned hand to stop me. 

“I am in need of your services, magician.” 

I blink at her. “Asra has just gone out and I’m not sure when he’ll be ba-” She silences me, again with her hand. 

“Not him. It’s you I’m in need of,” 

I must look like an idiot, just blinking at her. She waits, patiently, for me to collect my thoughts. “Me? Why me? What for?” She just gazes at me, and I can’t tell if she’s amused or not. 

“All I ask is that you stay with me in the palace for a few days, and simply help me with the task, I cannot tell you too much here, you understand?” 

“I- yes. I would be honored, my lady.” I stammer out, and she asks me a few more questions, which I also stammer out answers to. Eventually, she leaves, and I watch the door click shut behind her, wondering what I just got myself into. 

****

Her presence in the palace is palpable, a tangible shift in the energy. It’s the closest she’s been since… the night she left. She’s unsure of herself, looking around at her surroundings nervously, but as if she’s trying to hide how she feels. She was rather good at that before, but she’s different now. Shorter hair, less clothes, but eyes that hold the same soul behind them. Interesting. 

****

Dinner is uneventful, for the most part. Finding out what I’m actually needed for was nice, though. But my gaze kept drifting to the portrait hanging on the wall, oddly transfixed by the beautiful red eyes of the goat painted as a representation of the late Count Lucio. The name stirs something in my memory, but I focus on the present, and Nadia, instead of whatever cloudy thought is trying to resurface.  
At the end of the meal, with my new assignment to catch the Count’s murderer fresh in my mind, the Countess’s maid, Portia, leads me to my room. As we pass by a shadowy staircase, two sleek and slender dogs come into view. The sight of them starts to stir something in my memory, as well, in addition to a slowly blooming headache at the base of my skull. It seems everything here reminds me of something I don’t remember. 

After a few minutes of standing and talking about the animals, Portia realizes that she’s forgotten to get them their treats for sleep, and leaves me, with only the two dogs as my company. As soon as she’s out of sight, they rise and begin to eagerly sniff me, walking in circles around and around my body, while I twist and turn trying to keep them in sight. These are the dogs that the late Count had trained to be vicious? They seem to recognize me, but I cannot say that I’ve ever met these dogs before.

_Elowen._

My head snaps up from where I was looking at the now frozen dogs. The voice, once faint, is now much louder and much clearer, here in front of the steps. 

_Elowen._

The voice has become more persistent, almost desperate, in contrast to the almost seductive and playful tone it had before. It’s coming from the staircase, the one that leads to the Count’s old wing. A shot of fear runs up my spine. There is something up there and it knows my name, who I am. The voice that’s been calling me for as long as I can remember, the force that has been pulling me towards it… is here. 

The dogs, as if guided by an unseen force, begin to move, their lanky bodies sliding up the stairs. They pause a few steps up, looking back at me. They want me to follow. I look both ways, down the corridor on either side of me, and see that I’m alone. My feet itch to move, and despite myself, I nod, and they begin to lead me up into the pitch black hall. I hesitate on the landing, almost backing down, but the dog with a notch in their ear whines. Sighing, I put on a brave face and move further into the wing, ignoring my heart’s racing. 

It’s silent, but I can feel something other than the two dogs and myself. Something that’s watching me. Something that knows who I am.

“Hello?” I try to call out, but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. The dogs are watching something, their mismatched eyes following a movement I cannot see, their tongues and tails wagging. I can feel the pull under my rib cage, much stronger now. I set my jaw and begin to follow my instinct and the pull. It leads me to a pair of opulent doors, gold filigree dull in the absence of light. I cautiously conjure a small ball of light, and it rests weakly in the palm of my hand. Before I can touch the door handle, it clicks and swings open on its own accord. “Great,” I mumble, holding out my hand and peering into the dark room. 

I gingerly step into the room, my light casting long shadows on the walls. It’s unbearably hot, hotter than the city in the middle of summer. I can feel another presence in the room, but I elect to ignore it until I’m aware of my surroundings, trying not to notice the sensation of being watched. My eyes roam over dusty furniture- a writing desk, a suit of armor, a large four-poster bed. Each step in the plush carpet sends clouds of dust and ash into the air, adding to the uncomfortable atmosphere building in the room. Unlit sconces and lanterns seem to buzz as I pass, but I chalk it up to the noise in my mind. My eyes finally stop at the large portrait on the wall adjacent to the large bed. My gaze moves up from the leather clad boots, up the taut legs, slim but obviously toned torso, and finally on the face. And gasp, the shock sending me stumbling a few feet back, almost onto the bed. 

I stare up at the large painting, my eyes stuck on the face. The face of the man that I have been seeing almost every night in my dreams, is here. And, I realize now, was the Count. The Count whose ashes are now scattered on the bed behind me, as it seems no one cleaned up his remains. 

My heart races, unable to wrap my mind around it. And yet it makes sense, even if I don’t quite have all the pieces to put the puzzle together. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a form gathering. But I cannot tear my sights away from the portrait, too astonished to even move my gaze. 

“Lucio,” I mumble, the name feeling foreign on my tongue yet familiar, all the same. The form in my peripheral is more solid now, and I finally move my head to look at it. And stifle a scream at the large being in front of me, the sight of white fur and red eyes causing one of the worst headaches I’ve ever had to bloom across my entire head. Through the pain, I push myself away from the bed and begin to run out of the room. I could swear it called my name as I left, but my blood pounding in my ears drowned out any thought but _run._

****

That night, I sit in my room, unable to sleep. My mind keeps drifting to the Count, unable to fathom the connection we would have. Try as I might, the memories don’t return to me, even after matching the memories from my dreams to the man in the portrait. To the reputation I know of him. But it’s useless, and all I get for my troubles is a throbbing pain. I, somehow, manage to fall into an uneasy sleep, my dreams no clearer than they were before I found out who Lucio was. 

But when I wake up and the sky is still dark, I can’t bring myself to go back to sleep. So I slip on my shoes and gently leave the room, headed back towards the dark staircase.

It comes, in the course of one’s life, that a decision must be made. The decision to stay in the dark and refuse to ask questions about the past, or to head into a new territory of life, the uncertainty being the only constant remaining. And as I stare into the darkness above me, hearing the syllables of my name echoing around me, knowing what awaits in that darkness, I make the decision. 

And begin my ascent into the ashy darkness, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks. 
> 
> Seriously, though, this has been a joy to write. I started writing in December with the intention of this being a very self-indulgent thing that wouldn't get a lot of attention, and the first few chapters didn't really get a lot of attention, which I was perfectly okay with. But then it DID start to get attention, and it simultaneously made my job better and harder. I am endlessly thankful for the comments and kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions, because they were the reason I at least tried to have an update schedule (not that I kept to it, but it's the thought that counts, here). I am thankful for everyone who has stuck with this story until now, and hasn't given up on it. 
> 
> I might write more fics, I might not. (And not to plug my other fic, but I do have another one that's inspired by Beauty and the Beast, and also has Elowen in it. TBH I think this one is better, but I also think my writing has evolved a bit since then, even though it hasn't really been that long.) Might write the other ending that I was thinking about when I first was planning this that was more in line with how Jane Eyre ends, as a sort of BONUS thing... Would probably post that on my tumblr, though.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr (@summercourtship) or support me on Ko-Fi (link on profile, but it's not really that important to me that you do- I don't like begging for money haha). 
> 
> Songs that really helped to inspire and keep inspiration for this fic (full playlist is on my profile, as well, if you want to check that out):  
> -Sirens, from the Jane Eyre Musical (!!! This is the song that really got me to write this fic)  
> -A Postcard to Henry Purcell, Dario Marianelli Pride and Prejudice (2005) OST  
> -Mina/Dracula, Wojciech Kilar, Bram Stoker's Dracula OST  
> -Wuthering Heights, Kate Bush (and the Karliene cover)  
> -My Edward and I, Dario Marianelli, Jane Eyre (2011) OST  
> -Disarm, The Civil Wars
> 
> <3<3<3  
> Kyra (retrofuturing)
> 
> edit (6/24/19): so his route is out now and umm... the fact that the end of this matches up perfectly with the start of his route made me unbelievably excited because i was kinda hoping something like that would happen

**Author's Note:**

> The actual quote the title comes from: “Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning or frost from fire.” -Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë


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